Quicksand
by Tilea
Summary: Post-GS3 AU: Miles Edgeworth is on top of the world, but what goes up must always come down. The horrors of his past surface in a way he could never imagine, and an unknown enemy will stop at nothing to destroy him. MilesXFranziska. Also contains slash.
1. Prologue

**Quicksand**

**_A/N: _**_Got a random idea, so I'm back! ...Please don't yell at me about "Good Enough". I'll think of something, I promise! Anyway, this chapter is just a short prologue; they'll be longer than this, I assure you._

_**Disclaimer: **Ace Attorney and all of its characters are property of CapCom, and though I would love nothing more than to own Edgeworth... I don't... LOL_

_**Warning: **Contains yaoi. Rated for violence, mildly-explicit non-concentual sexual content, language_

_****__Prologue_

_**Looking up at you... All I've ever wanted to do... Is bring you back down... Down to the ground... Back where you belong... Is that so wrong...?**_

"The court finds the defendant Mr. Henry Wilkes Manson, guilty of all eight accounts of man slaughter. He will receive the maximum sentence of life in prison without parole. Court is adjourned."

Inwardly, the twenty-seven-year-old Los Angeles prosecutor frowned in irritation, even as he exited the courtroom as the victor. California was much too sympathetic to criminals... That man deserved nothing less than the death penalty for what he'd done. The people of California deserved to have him extinguished, not to have their tax money pay for his shelter, daily meals, and basic cable for the rest of his life! Oh well... His job was to find the truth, to stand in court and light every dark corner of a case until there is no shadow of a doubt left for the truth to hide within. He had done so once again today, so his job was done; the sentencing was not his line of work and out of his hands when it came down to the final say.

He was jolted from his thoughts by a bright flash and a sudden tumult of noise.

"Prosecutor Edgeworth! Congratulations on yet another victory!"

"Can you tell us your thoughts on the case, Mr. Edgeworth?"

"How do you feel about Mr. Manson's sentence?"

"Could I have a moment, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Ah, of course... This was such a high-profile case, after all. Why wouldn't the paparazzi be waiting right outside the courthouse, ready to ambush anyone involved in the case like a pack of starving wolves? Fortunately, Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth had been handling high-profile cases for years now, and he knew how to handle this.

"...I'm afraid I have no comment, but perhaps you might have better luck speaking to Mr. Manson's defense attorney. He worked closely with the convicted, after all..."

The slightest of smirks appeared on the prosecutor's lips as he watched the mass of reporters rush to chase down and corner the defense attorney that was now exiting the courthouse. When the distraction was successful, he turned and walked away calmly, his expensive briefcase barely swinging at his side. Before anyone could get another glimpse of him, he was getting into his bright red, luxury sports car and pulling away from the district courthouse.

When he was safely on the freeway and able to effortlessly drive with one hand, Miles produced his cellphone and held down one of the buttons on the device's number pad, waiting only a moment before putting it to his ear and waiting while it rang.

"_Well, it's about time, Miles Edgeworth. I was beginning to think you weren't going to put that fool in prison until next week."_

"Hello to you as well, Franziska," Miles greeted her with a small half-smile resting on his lips instead of that usual smirk.

A soft laugh reached him from the female prosecutor on the other end of the call. "...Hello, Miles... Congratulations; it's about time someone put that maniac behind bars... I'll admit, I wanted to be the one to do it."

"I know..." he replied, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "I'll tell you what: you may have the next one all to yourself."

"_Hmph! I don't need your charity!" _The smile could be heard in her voice. _"...Are you coming home? You promised me dinner."_

"I'm on my way as we speak," he replied, nodding even though it could not be seen while they spoke over the phone. "I should be there in ten minutes, provided traffic isn't too horrendous."

"_All right. You better drive safely!"_

"Heh... Always, my love... _Auf Wiederheren._"

"_Auf Wiederheren..."_

Miles drew the phone away from his ear and flipped it closed, placing it in the console between the front seats of the car. He sighed, still with that small smile resting comfortably on his handsome face. He was on top of the world... He had a wonderful, successful career, all the money he'd ever need, a nice house, a great car, a couple good friends, and the woman he had always felt so strongly for – without knowing it all this time – waiting eagerly for him at home, to spend another quiet night in simple, yet powerful, romance.

Yes... He had come a long way. Just a few years ago, this life had been a living Hell, but now he couldn't ask for anything more...

_**You love having so much to lose... So let me show you what it means to lose it all...**_


	2. Chapter 1: In The Mirror

**Quicksand**

**Chapter 1: In The Mirror**

"Will you be at the trial?"

"...You know I would love to be... but I have an investigation I must start this morning..." Miles gave her a slightly saddened smile, and then leaned in to kiss the twenty-year-old prosecutor in the passenger's seat of his car on the lips, the contact brief, but sincere. "I'll be with you in spirit," he assured her, that smile lightening up a bit.

"Hmph, such a foolish thing to say," she remarked, her eyes half-lidded and her head inclined. "But I suppose I will have to accept it for now."

"Indeed." Miles sat back in his seat, waiting for her to prepare and exit the car. "Will you be returning to the office after the trial?"

Franziska shook her head. "_Nein. _I will be looking over case files, and I would prefer to do so in the comfort of my own home."

"Very well. I'll see you when I get home then. Good luck, Franziska."

"You know I don't need luck..." she said, smirking at him before leaning over to return his kiss from earlier. She then pulled the door handle, preparing to leave the vehicle. "Goodbye, Miles."

He just gave her a small smile and a wave and then watched her step out of the car and close the door behind her. He put the vehicle in drive, but idled until she vanished from his sight, into the courthouse. With that, he drove away, heading toward the district prosecution offices.

oooooooooooooooo

"Yes, Sir, the autopsy was performed yesterday evening."

"Very good. May I see the report?"

"Of course, Mr. Edgeworth... Ah! I believe it was given to Detective Gumshoe. He insisted on giving it to you personally, Sir."

Miles frowned, knowing exactly why the bumbling detective had done so, always trying to win his favor at every turn... and normally failing. "Thank you, Officer," he said with a curt nod, his face impassive as he walked past the other man with his arms folded across his chest. He made his way down the vacant hallway of the precinct, certain that he would find the detective in his office as per usual in the noon hour. He would probably be stuffing his face with some type of cheap excuse for food brought from home...

He gave a couple of knocks for the sake of politeness, and then simply pushed the door open to see the detective sitting at his desk, staring intently and wide-eyed at his computer screen. Miles quirked an eyebrow and took the couple of steps forward that would take him up to the desk to stand right in front of Gumshoe. "...What are you doing, Detective?"

He might have dumped a bucket of ice water on the bearish detective for the overly-dramatic startled reaction he had to being addressed. "O-oh! M-mr. Edgeworth! W-what a surprise...!"

The prosecutor frowned. "...Why so jumpy, Detective...?" He then grew curious and side-stepped, attempting to get a look at what was on Gumshoe's computer screen. He only got a brief glimpse of something that didn't look nearly work-appropriate before the window was hastily closed.

"Just... erm... checking up on the current news, Sir!" Gumshoe exclaimed, fidgeting slightly. "I am a detective after all! We police gotta' know what's going on in the world!"

Miles gave him a cold look. "...Thanks to your panicked efforts to hide from me what you were viewing, I didn't get a good look, but it certainly didn't appear to be anything the family-friendly press would ever be allowed to post on their website or otherwise..."

The larger man averted his gaze. "Erm... You probably imagined it. Why would I be doing anything weird like that, especially at work?"

Miles sighed and shook his head. "...In any case, I need Mr. Herald's autopsy report."

"Uh... sure..." Gumshoe didn't once meet his eye as he reached into his desk and handed over the report. He didn't look proud to be doing so, excited to be assisting the prosecutor as he normally did. Inwardly, Miles found himself wondering about this, but he shrugged it off.

"Thank you, Detective. Now... I suggest you get to work and save any unrelated Web surfing for your own time." With that, he turned and left the room, the file he'd just received on his left arm. He had work to do; he didn't have time to dwell on that detective's abnormally-strange behavior.

But Dick Gumshoe wasn't the only person that seemed to be acting abnormally today.

"_...Prosecutor Skye speaking..."_

"Prosecutor Skye, I apologize for bothering you, but I need to know if you have received a call back from-"

"_No, Edgeworth, I haven't. Look, I'm quite busy at the moment, so -"_

"Ms. Skye, this is important. I need permission to investigate at Mr. Herald's place of employment; my investigation can go nowhere without - "

"_Don't make me repeat myself, Edgeworth! Figure something out; I haven't gotten a call and I don't know what to tell you!"_

"Now just a minute here!" Miles wasn't able to finish his indignant response, for the line went dead. She'd hung up on him! Unbelievable! First, Detective Gumshoe's odd jumpiness, then all the officers seeming to avoid him or give him strange looks, and now the Chief Prosecutor was being extremely cross and unwilling to even speak to him about the investigation of a high-profile case such as this one! What was wrong with everyone? Had something happened that he wasn't aware of...? Did he have something on his face? Miles took a brief detour into the men's room to ensure that his appearance wasn't causing some sort of disturbance, and upon discovering he was just as perfectly pristine as he'd been upon leaving the house that morning, he was once more at a loss.

He lingered for a moment as he looked at his own reflection. Each morning, he stood before his bathroom mirror to shave, brush his teeth, and get his hair and suit in order, but there were times when none of those things were his mission, where he was simply... gazing at the man in the mirror.

This was the one thing in his life that he didn't think could ever be fixed, could ever be what he hoped it would be. On the surface, he was a handsome, strong, cool and collected, professional man. He had no blemishes upon his skin, save for the occasional signs of stress from over-working himself, and his dark gray eyes were sharp as could be, able to give a death glare that could make the toughest of criminals shrink back under its weight.

But beneath it all lay a truth Miles never wanted to uncover. He had buried it deep inside, so deep that no one else could get even a glimpse. Hell, even he could live day-to-day without noticing its presence, but it was times like this that the nausea bothered him, that he couldn't bear to look at his own face in the mirror any longer, that the lights in his eyes faded if only for a fraction of a second before he closed them and turned away.

No... That boy was dead, and good riddance... He had died three years ago and would not be missed or remembered... by anyone but himself, anyway...

Miles shook his head to clear it, and then held it high, regaining his usual composure as he walked out of the men's restroom, a new determination to get through the day lit within him. Who cared if everyone else was having a bad day; there was no reason for him to fall into this as well. He simply had to figure out what was going on, deal with it however he had to, and get his job done so that he could return home to Franziska that night with nothing left to worry about until the next day began...

...That was... if whatever was going around hadn't reached her as well...

ooooooooooooooooo

"Honey, I'm home!" He closed the door behind him and began to take off his shoes and jacket, just waiting for a snappy and irritated come-back from somewhere in the house, scolding him for such a ridiculous pet-name. However, when he got no response whatsoever, Miles was a bit confused. After his accessories were removed, Miles began to walk further into the house, toward the living room where he could hear the television playing at a low volume. "Franziska...? Are you home...?"

The sound of the television was suddenly silenced, and when he turned into the living room, he nearly bumped into his lover, who jumped back a bit. "Ach! Miles, hello!" she exclaimed, recovering and throwing her arms around him in a greeting hug. He wrapped his arms around her waist to complete the embrace and pressed a kiss to her cheek, but his gaze was on the now inactive TV.

"Hello, Franziska... What... were you watching...?"

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and would-be-innocent. "...Nothing special," she replied. "...Why?" She looked... nervous...

Miles paused, and then removed himself from the embrace to walk past her and pick up the remote control. She stood there silently, nibbling slightly on one of her nails as he turned the device back on to reveal that she had been watching the news. The story that was currently playing was something about a new health study.

"See," she said quickly, like a child trying to prove they had won an argument. "Nothing special, just like I-"

Miles hit the button on the remote to rewind the satellite feed. He didn't say a word, just waited until he saw the news station's logo appear. He pushed yet another button to set the program forward at its normal speed, and then set the remote back on the coffee table and took a seat on the couch.

This had to be it... He just had a gut feeling about it... Of course, that gut feeling felt a lot like anxiety...

"**Welcome back, and good evening to our viewers just tuning in after beating the rush-hour traffic. You've made it just in time for our top story tonight."**

"**Now, this story has been developing throughout the day, but if you haven't been following the scandal surrounding LA Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, here's basically what we're looking at."**

"**This morning around seven-thirty, the Chief of Police received an e-mail from an anonymous sender claiming to have found some important information to hand over to the police. The e-mail came complete with a link to a public video, posted on an 'adult entertainment' website. Now, we are unable to show the video because it is extremely obscene, but from what we gathered, it's not flattering."**

"**In the thirty-minute-long video, Mr. Edgeworth appears to be in his late teens and is shown performing explicit sexual acts with another man, whose face is not able to be seen and whose voice is not heard throughout the video. The individual filming is not seen either, and though they speak, the voice is masked and unidentifiable."**

"**Now, according to those who didn't seem to mind watching and reporting on this film the entire way through, it appears that the events in question were not done with full consent from who we are now 100% certain is Miles Edgeworth. However, it's obvious that this is not at all how anyone in Los Angeles wants to view one of its most renown attorneys. There is no word yet on how Mr. Edgeworth has reacted to the release of this tape, but we did manage to get a statement from the city's Chief Prosecutor, Lana Skye."**

"**You want my opinion on this? Quite frankly, it's an outrage! I cannot believe that someone would not only sink so low as to film something like this, but to release it in a blatant attempt to sabotage one of this countries greatest prosecutors while labeling it as important evidence is even more disgusting. I stand by Mr. Edgeworth on this, and I am appalled at the associated press for aiding such a sick-minded individual. I will be doing everything in my power to destroy this atrocity, and I encourage anyone who wishes to uphold the image of our judicial system to do the same."**

"**Some harsh words from Prosecutor Skye, but can she really blame us...?"**

It was at about this point when Miles stopped listening to the report and was left staring blankly at the screen, his face nearly as white as the lace around his neck. His eyes seemed to roll back in his head, and he barely even heard the soft voice of the woman still standing near the entrance to the living room.

"...Miles... What... is this...? Tell me it's a mistake..."

It felt like the walls around him were crumbling, letting all of the darkness they had been protecting him from flood in and surround him, consume him. His breathing began to get heavier and faster as it all closed in around him, and he felt like he was drowning. He swallowed hard, trying to keep the sickness in, but he could feel that nausea, and it was rising like magma in an erupting volcano. He stood up, the room spinning around him as he began to move toward the stairs, his speed steadily increasing as he went until he was running up the stairs toward the master bedroom.

"Miles!" Franziska gave chase, quite pale herself as she tried to catch up with him, stop him, get him to answer her. However, she couldn't manage this, and the bathroom door was slammed in her face just as she reached it. She stood there with her palm against the thick wood, listening with deep fear and concern as Miles coughed and gagged, the obvious sounds of one vomiting up every morsel of food they had not yet fully digested. Part of her wanted to go in there, hold his bangs back for him, cradle him in her arms and make sure that he was all right...

...but instead, she removed her hand from the door and turned away. She just... didn't know what to think about this, and thanks to his reaction... she knew this wasn't falsified...

...but what was it...? Slowly, Franziska made her way over to the desk in their room where the laptop she normally used to aid her in working from home sat idly. She picked the machine up and carried it from the room, downstairs to the living room and sat down on the couch. No... she didn't want to watch her lover's humiliation... but she needed to know, because she already knew that this wasn't going to just go away as Lana Skye wanted it to...

oooooooooooooooooo

Miles leaned up against the bathroom counter, gripping the edge of it and staring into the sink. The water was running, but at the moment, it server no purpose. He was just staring... but not really seeing.

What he was seeing were memories... horrible visions of the past he'd buried and left far behind him. Now... it had been unearthed, and it had chased him down, seized him and was now dragging him down... down... back to where he never wanted to return...

That heavy breathing... it created a sob, and he closed his eyes, hunching down and burying his face in his folded arms, uncaring that the water spilling from the faucet was soaking the forearm of his suit.

This couldn't be happening... It was a horrible nightmare... and he would wake up soon... He would be free again...

….He had to be...


	3. Chapter 2: The Weight of the Truth

**Quicksand**

**Chapter 2: The Weight of the Truth**

She would definitely be clearing her history and scanning her laptop for malware after this... Franziska von Karma had never once dreamed of visiting such a despicable site, but she had a mission... an investigation she had to force herself to undergo.

She was alarmed at how easy it had been to find. She felt her heart sink knowing that Miles was getting the celebrity treatment this time, meaning that the leak of this film was huge news and everyone that had ever wanted to see such a prestigious man in a less-than-flattering light – or whatever reason they'd have – would be looking for it, thus putting it at the top of the list. She felt horrible for looking this up, but he wouldn't tell her... so she had to find out for herself what secrets the man – who at the time had been her 'little brother' – had been keeping from her for all of these years.

So, she watched with baited breath, and instantly hated what she saw...

oooooooooooooooooooo

**As the black screen dissipated, the teenage boy was revealed. Sixteen-year-old Miles Edgeworth knelt with his head bowed and bangs shadowing his eyes. He wore black leather bands that wrapped his forearms all the way from wrist to elbow, black leather leggings that reached his mid-thigh like tall stockings, and a black leather dog collar around his neck... and that was all. It couldn't really be detected in the ten-year-old video, but he'd been trembling.**

**A figure moved past the camera, momentarily blocking the young man from view until it had left the shot. However, now a man's hand could be seen taking hold of Miles' hair and drawing his head back, so that he was looking up at whomever was standing over him. All that could be heard was the ambiance of the room, but apparently Miles had been spoken to, for he spoke in a quiet, fear-stricken voice.**

"**...please... get the camera out of here..."**

**Roughly, the unknown individual pulled Miles' head back even further, getting a slight cry of pain from the teen. He was held there for a moment while he was spoken to – unheard – and then he gave his pained response.**

"**Y-Yes, Master...! I-I'm sorry...!"**

**That grip was released, and Miles lowered his head, looking away from the camera. A laugh was heard very close to the device, obviously coming from whomever was holding it. The voice was indeed masked, sounding like a computer-generated male voice.**

"**Oh, don't mind me. Just do what you normally do and you won't even know I'm here."**

**Miles looked over toward the camera, glaring in anger at the individual holding it. This didn't last long, however, for he received a harsh slap from the man standing in front of him, causing him to turn his face away and turn his attention from the camera. This seemed to be the last amount of fight the young man had within him, because it was never seen again for the film's duration.**

**And this was where it began. There was another brief pause, and then the man standing before Miles stepped forward. He appeared to be fully dressed from the small part of him that could be seen from behind, but he had obviously undone the front of his pants. Miles' hair was seized once more, and he was forced to face forward. He looked reluctant and tense, but he was obedient enough to open his mouth and take the other man in. He closed his eyes tightly and gave a small whimper, not appearing to be enjoying this at all. The hand gripping his hair drew him closer, forcing him to take the large organ deeper into his mouth, eliciting a muffling choking sound from the teen.**

**The start of this act was slow; Miles moved back and forth along the shaft, though the man he was servicing seemed to be making sure he took in as much as possible with each move inward. The teen's breathing was heavy and irregular through his nose as he tried to keep a decent level of oxygen in his lungs even with the obstruction, but he was getting more and more tense while the speed increased.**

**And then the gentleness was through. The grasp on his hair tightened, and another hand reached down to hold the back of Miles' head, keeping the boy in place as his hips began to move, thrusting hard. Miles instinctively tried to gasp, but it was cut short, strangled. That obstruction to his breathing was now being driven hard into his throat, over and over again so that getting a breath was physically impossible. It was then that the inability to take in air triggered his body's automatic fight-or-flight response: a struggle, and for this, he was punished.**

**The other man drew back, letting Miles take in a gasp of air, but only one. Fingers dipped beneath the leather collar right at his throat and grabbed onto the item. The poor teen was pushed back and dragged a short distance across the floor, and then thrown back against a nearby couch. During this quick movement, the person operating the camera had a bit of work to do to keep up with the action, thus the picture shook quite a bit and did not maintain steady focus until said movement stopped.**

**Now, Miles was somewhat sitting against the couch, and his head was forced back at an uncomfortable angle onto one of the seat cushions. The other man straddled him, and the picture zoomed in. Miles' face could no longer be seen, and the main focus was just this violent penetration, though that leather dog collar still remained in the shot. The teen was now pinned and completely unable to turn his head or back away in order to breath as pleasure was extorted from him, accompanied by the sound of his choking gags.**

**This treatment continued until the unidentified man must've decided that going any longer would suffocate his young pet. As he withdrew, the camera zoomed out to reveal most of the teen while he was allowed to move from such an extremely uncomfortable position and to turn onto his side, coughing and gagging so hard it looked and sounded as if he would be sick.**

**Miles was only allowed a moment to gasp for air before his 'master' had a hold of him again. The back of the collar was grabbed, causing Miles to give a soft cry as he was led/dragged away from the couch and to a large mahogany work desk, making it apparent that the room this scene was taking place in was probably some type of office or study. The video was once again shaky and unfocused, but Miles could be seen reaching up toward the edge of the desk, as if to climb onto it in obedience. However, the other man was apparently impatient, for Miles was suddenly lifted right up off the floor as if he weighed nothing at all and placed onto the hardwood surface on his hands and knees.**

**Miles was still panting as everyone was getting readjusted, and the camera operator moved around the desk so that – when all was still again – they were standing behind Miles, leaving nothing to the imagination about the slim and attractive young man being depicted in such humiliation. At this point, that unnaturally deep voice was heard again.**

"**Hey, mind if I have a little fun with him?"**

**A pause, an unnatural silence as if all sound in the tape had been cut out to avoid the speaker from being heard. Then, the person holding the camera spoke again.**

"**I know he's yours, but sharing isn't always so bad, you know... Come on, I won't break your little toy; I just want to help make sure that he won't forget this."**

**Another audio lapse, and then the ambiance returned, followed by a small whimpered protest from Miles. Near the top of the shot where his shoulders and the back of his head could be seen a bit, one of those rough hands could be seen taking a hold of the collar again, forcing Miles' head down and holding him in place to quell his protests and enforce control and obedience. Also, if one looked, there could be seen an array of scars on the young man's back, signifying some type of recent abuse.**

**Having apparently received permission and now that Miles was being held in place, the person filming moved closer, zooming the picture out to keep a decent shot as they came to stand right behind him. Now, a new hand was revealed in the slightly-shakier shot, but this one was smaller, more slender, with long red fingernails. It was a feminine hand, identifying the gender of the individual behind the picture, who would not be seen at all. That hand moved shamelessly over the top of one of the leather leggings and then up over pale skin. Miles was visibly tensing at being touched in such a way, and that tension grew as one of those slender fingers neared his entrance.**

"**You're such a pretty little boy, aren't you...?" cooed the disguised female voice. "I'm a little jealous... I wish I could take you home with me some time, **_**Schatzi**_**." As she said this, the painted nail of her middle finger disappeared, breeching the teen. Miles squirmed and whimpered in response to this unwanted intrusion, and this was where the origin of those scars became known. A loud 'SNAP' cut the air as the end of a whip came down against his back to create a new mark and bring forth a sharp cry, the crop wielded by the man holding him in place. With this reminder, the teen stayed still, though he was still whimpering slightly.**

**A laugh came from the woman behind the camera as she busied herself with inserting a second finger, just toying with him and listening to his soft sounds of discomfort. She continued this treatment until she'd gotten her fill, and then retracted her hand, but only for a moment.**

**What made its way into the shot next was a thin, metal pole-like object, most likely a piece of some of the camera equipment that wasn't currently being used. This object was carefully guided into the teen, who in turn gave a cry of pain.**

"**...n-no... s-stop it..." he begged, only to receive another lash of the whip and have the object pushed in deeper. His breathing was now beginning to sound more like light sobbing, but he had to stay still and as quiet as possible while he was violated. That metal shaft was moved in and out, slowly of course, for it would have been easy to seriously injure him with, and she'd promised not to 'break' him.**

"**That's it... Be a good boy... Just look at all this attention you're getting, **_**Schatzi**_**... doesn't that feel good...?"**

**There was no response, for he'd learned his lesson by this point. He simply took the abuse without a fight until finally that object was withdrawn and the woman stepped away, adjusting the camera a bit to hold it steady once more and fix the shot from further back so that the image was about the same, still not revealing much at all of the man standing beside Miles.**

"**Okay, he's all yours again."**

**The man she was speaking to moved around the desk to block the right side of the screen as he stood behind the sixteen-year-old. He took hold of Miles hips and pulled him back slightly, causing his knees to no longer rest on the desk. He was lowered down so that he was now bent over the desk, his chest and stomach flat against the wood. The young man didn't once look back, struggle, or protest as this was done, but he was shaking more noticeably than ever.**

**And there wasn't really anymore waiting. Now that Miles was in position, it only took a moment before the other man entered him. A pained gasp and groan was the response from the teen, and as he was made to take the entire length, the shot was adjusted again to get the best view of this explicit meeting. The man in control stayed still for a moment, just pressing his pet up against the desk and listening to him whimper before beginning to move. The rhythm was relatively slow starting out, but his thrusts forward were sharp jabs, each one getting a pained reaction from the young man.**

**But when the speed and power increased was when it started to get bad. The teen could be heard sobbing and muttering meek pleas for it to stop. He was ignored, although the woman holding the camera did decide to move momentarily to the side of the desk and zoom in a bit on his face. Miles had his head turned to the side and laying on the desk, his eyes closed and tears leaking from the corners of them. He was a pathetic sight to behold, broken and hurting, nothing like the man anyone now knew.**

**She once again began to move around behind them, and as she did so, Miles was being turned over onto his back. His legs were lifted up, and he was penetrated again, this time much more violently. The camera stayed focused on this point, filming the older man moving roughly in and out of him, pounding him against the desk, while in the background all that could be heard were – no longer small gasps and whimpers – but cries, escalating in volume the faster or harder the older man thrust. Miles was really pleading now, his sobs becoming heavy and uncontrollable as he just wanted this to be over.**

**It took a couple more torturous minutes, but finally the older man reached his climax, silently releasing within the teenage boy he had at his mercy, under his complete control. Slowly, he pulled out and stepped back out of the shot, leaving Miles to simply be filmed while he lay there on the desk, crying and trembling. A bit of the white substance dripped from him, along with a small amount of blood, which the woman filming didn't have any problem focusing on for a few seconds. As expected, Miles had not really even neared his own climax, having been in much more pain than pleasure and not enjoying it. So, he just lay there, used and spent, allowing their eyes to probe him and take in their fill of his tormented and broken form.**

"**And there we have it... We should do this again some time, hm?"**

**This was where the screen faded to black and all went silent, ending the obscene recording.**

oooooooooooooooooooo

Even when the screen had blacked out and the site's normal advertising messages replaced the video, Franziska stared with wide, horrified eyes at the display. What she had just seen... was so much worse than she could have imagined. And now... the world was watching... watching as the man she had always loved was tortured and humiliated by... well... she didn't know whom...

Finally, she found the resolve to close her browser window and then shut the laptop, her motions slow and mechanical. Poor Miles... How could that have been real...? How could he have allowed himself to be subjected to such degrading treatment...? How had the kind and intelligent boy that she had spent many an afternoon with studying or engaging in a contest of knowledge or wits have hurt this way multiple times without the notice of her and her father...?

Franziska could feel tears forming at the back of her eyes and she swallowed hard to try and hold them in. It hurt badly to have seen that... to imagine Miles in such a way... but there were just certain things in the world that you couldn't 'un-see', and that was – unfortunately – one of them.

As upset as she was, Franziska knew what her task was now. She was the closest person to him, and that meant she had to be strong for him, be the one to help him through this... somehow... She swallowed hard again, this time to brace herself, and then stood up, carrying the computer with her as she headed back upstairs.

When she entered the master bedroom, it was to find Miles lying curled up on top of the comforter, silent and still. She moved quietly, placing the laptop back in its original place, and then moved to crawl onto the bed beside him.

"...Miles..." she murmured, kneeling over him and reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair, pulling his bangs away from his face. "...Are you... all right...?" She felt as if this was a very foolish question, but she had to ask it, to display her concern and affection for the older prosecutor, to make sure that he hadn't... passed out or anything drastic like that.

"...no..." It was a simple, one-word answer, but the impact his weak, hoarse, barely-audible voice had on the young woman was devastating. Franziska took in a deep, shuddering breath and moved to lie down beside him, trying to coax him into her arms.

"...Come here, Miles... You don't... have to be up here all alone..." she murmured, watching as he hesitated, and then gave into her, turning over and leaning forward so that she could wrap her arms around him and he could hide his face in the fabric of her dress. His breathing was suddenly deep as he tried to take in her scent, to let it and her warmth comfort him, but he could feel the flood gates straining against the overwhelming weight of what he'd kept bottled up inside for so long.

Secrets... dark secrets and emotional agony were biting and clawing their way to the surface, tearing through the suddenly-fragile defenses he'd been building these past couple of years, and thus the tears began to flow freely.

Miles Edgeworth – strong and resilient knight of truth in the court of law, scourge of crime, proud purveyor of justice and honor – wept in the arms of his young lover, reduced to nothing more than a trembling, sobbing mess, reduced to what – in his mind – he had always truly been: a weak, traumatized, and defenseless child.

But Franziska didn't speak, and she wasn't thinking along these lines at all. Though as children they had always been in competition, and even on into recent years, they had always been so close, even more so now. She could place no blame or fault on him for this, even if – only a year ago – she could have blamed him entirely for something to this affect. Now... he was a victim, a victim that had been strong enough to pick himself up and bury what had just been revealed to her as a more horrific past than she could have ever envisioned. To her, it was a mark of his strength that no one could have ever guessed he'd been hiding something like this, but he needed help now...

So she held him, let him cry, let him soak her dress with tears and wrinkle it as he clutched the fabric in his fist. Her clothing could be cleaned and ironed, but blemishes on the human mind and heart could not be so easily repaired or eliminated. She did all she could to give him comfort, stroking her fingers gently through his dark gray locks of hair, moving her hand up and down his back in a soothing motion, whispering words of love and reassurance in his ear.

Yes, it was like comforting a child, but that wasn't it at all. Even the full-grown and mature needed such security sometimes, and this was certainly one of those times.

She didn't bother to measure the amount of time they lay there together, silent save for Miles' sobs and ragged breathing. However, when it all finally calmed down and he was simply lying still and quiet in her arms, she gave it a try.

"...Miles... who did this to you...? Please... tell me..."

No answer.

"...Miles, please... Who were those people...? Who was hurting you...? Who filmed it...? Who has had it in their possession to release to the public like this...?"

Still no answer. She could tell he was awake, but he was just lying there with his eyes closed, the occasional tremor running through his tired body. He didn't want to answer her, didn't want to dwell on this enough to form an answer...

She was getting frustrated, but she had to be patient. He was hurting and in shock... She was sure he would confide in her... at some point... He just needed to be ready... but she wanted to get _something _out of him! "Then... can you at least... tell me why you never told us...?" she asked, making one last desperate attempt at understanding. "...I remember that you were... normally quiet, but I simply attributed it to your personality... Miles... even at my young age... you could have confided in me that someone was hurting you... And... and what about Papa...? He could have put a stop to it... Surely, you wouldn't have had to tell him everything... You..."

She trailed off, noticing how incredibly tense he was getting again, his grip on her dress so tight now that she could feel the material hugging her body more closely.

"...Miles...?"

"...Franziska..." It was just a whisper, but he was speaking at last. "...I would never put the weight of that knowledge on a child..." He was silent again, and she was almost sure this was all he was going to say, but as soon as that thought crossed her mind, his voice reached her again.

"...And as for why I never asked your father for help... I can't imagine... you would have to think... too long and hard about that to figure out why..."

She looked at him with wide eyes, blinking in confusion. "...What...? Miles, what do you -"

"...Come on... I know... y-you watched it..." he choked, finally lifting his head to look up at her. The visible state of him shocked her momentarily; she couldn't pinpoint the last time he'd looked so dead. "...After all that time... I'd think you would know him anywhere... even if... you can't see his face... or hear him..."

They say the truth hurts, but in that moment, Franziska learned the undiluted meaning of that phrase. Her world seemed to be raining down upon her, a rain of bricks and knives and fiery acid.

"..._Nein... _I-it can't be..."

Miles just gave a slow nod, lowering his head in shame and misery.

"...Papa...?"


	4. Chapter 3: The Will To Fight

**Quicksand**

**Chapter 3: The Will to Fight**

The overwhelming guilt had set in just about the time she'd closed the bedroom door behind her, but she couldn't turn back. Franziska walked slowly down the hallway, down the stairs, and into the living room, her pace so steady it was as if she was walking to the beat of a drum. Her movements all felt forced and mechanical, and it was the smallest relief when she reached the couch, a place to collapse.

Her father... Her father... Her Papa... God, it didn't sound right! No... he'd been no saint. She'd looked up to him, respected him, done her best to follow the trail he'd lain before her and measure up to his standards. However, she had also feared him, his strict rule, and occasionally-violent temper. But this...

Franziska wanted to be in denial, but she couldn't shake the feeling that... she just knew it was the truth. Her father had told quite a few lies... Miles had never straight-up lied to her... only this gigantic lie of omission. So... she knew it was true when she weighed the two men against one another morally...

But it was still so unbelievable. She wasn't about to go watch that video again to try and figure it out, and the knowledge that the unseen man in it was her father made her incredibly sick to her stomach. Never had she imagined him capable of something like that... Okay, so he'd committed murder...but what she had just seen was in a completely different category, took a totally different type of sadism to do...

And on top of the utter shock lay the revulsion. She had lain with Miles a few times in the recent months, and to now learn that her father was the first to have him... God, it all made her so queasy! She knew that walking out on Miles when he was in so much distress probably hadn't been the right thing to do, but she hadn't been able to lie there with him any longer. Sure... she'd probably be fine later on... She couldn't blame him for any of this, really, but for now she couldn't be near him. She couldn't be near anybody.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Miles was falling to pieces again. She'd just... left... She'd asked to confirm it was her father... He'd said nothing... Then, she'd just stood without a word and left him alone.

He probably disgusted her... He knew that she'd gone to watch that horrible recording earlier, seen him at the lowest point of his life, and after finding out the truth, she probably couldn't stomach him any longer. He shuddered and let out a sob as his weeping began again and he buried his face in his arms, curling up into a ball as best he could. He suddenly felt filthy and degraded, weak and vulnerable, just as he had back then, as if he'd never made any progress, never worked to get over any of it.

But this time... he was alone. She didn't even want to be near him... and he couldn't blame her. He doubted anyone would want to be near him after today... He was sure he could just vanish into thin air and the world would breathe a sigh of relief from the tension and awkwardness it felt around him.

He had just thought... for one moment... that Franziska would be different... that she would somehow put it all aside and just... be there with him... just for comfort... But how could he expect that of her...? After what she'd just learned, Miles felt that he'd understand if she just abandoned him...

As all these thoughts raced around in his head, the exhaustion he felt began to cloud them over time, and finally, all the crying and stress put him to sleep, a place he should've known he didn't want to be...

ooooooooooooooooooooo

**How could anything hurt this badly...?**

**Miles absolutely refused to open his eyes, to look at the man responsible for such anguish. His body was jerking with sobs so heavy that his chest was soar, just another part of him that ached as he lay on the cold, polished wooden surface of the desk in Manfred von Karma's study. Only sixteen and he already felt a hundred years old, as if in this last twenty minutes, his life had been ended and his soul had been ripped from his exposed and battered body.**

"**Now... have I made myself perfectly clear...?"**

**That voice... Oh, that horrible voice! Miles didn't believe in all of that Heaven and Hell nonsense the religious types preached about, but he was sure that if he were to hear Satan himself speak, that was what his voice would sound like. **

**The teen was far too petrified by terror to give a reply, and thus his punishment was not over. A rough hand seized a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back, smacking the back of it against the desk.**

"**Answer me!"**

**Miles cried out, and this was followed by another sob and choked, pleading response. "Y-yes, Sir..."**

**But his answer wasn't good enough. That hand tugged harder on his hair, straining it at the roots and making Miles groan in pain and reach up to try and pry that hand away. He had no success, for Manfred reached out with his free hand to grab it, twisting the young man's wrist until he heard the bones pop. "No... That is not what I wish to hear from you..." the German prosecutor hissed, leaning over his victim so that Miles could smell the scent of Earl Grey tea on his breath.**

"**...w-what do you want...?" Miles asked in desperation, his voice quivering. He wanted this to end, to get out of here and up to his room where he could hide for the rest of his life!**

"**Obedience," the older man growled. "You will obey your **_**Master!**_**"**

**Miles gasped, and finally, his eyes flew open to stare in horror at the sinister face above him. "N-no!" No, this couldn't mean what it sounded like! He **_**would not **_**be treated like this! He **_**would not **_**be humiliated like this ever again!**

**The response to his protest was given without a word. Manfred forced him to turn over from where he'd been lying on his back, and as Miles continued to protest, he began to feel the harsh lashes of a riding crop against his skin. He was held firmly in place, his crying and struggles useless as he was beaten, and all the while, Manfred was calm and silent. He struck the boy over and over again, almost in a rhythmic fashion, ignoring his pleas until the red marks spanned the length of the teen's back, which he was then forced to turn over and lie on.**

"**...Let us try this again..." came that dark, menacing voice from above him, able to be heard even over his ragged breathing and the pounding of his heart in his ears. "Do I make myself perfectly clear -" The whip cracked just inches above his face, making the teen lurch in fear. "- Miles Edgeworth?"**

**Everything hurt... Every part of his body ached, as did his mind. Every part of him screamed for relief, for cooperation to save himself more torment. Defiance was futile, and his dignity, pride, and self-respect were being drowned out by the overwhelming fear and desperate need for a reprieve.**

**And so he was broken, unable to look ahead with the knowledge that this submission would now dominate his life for years to come.**

"**...Y-yes... Master..."**

**As that chilling laughter filled his ears, all began to fade to black, but before he was rescued from this horrible memory, he just had to hear that voice one more time.**

"**Perfect... Now get out of my sight, pathetic mutt..."**

ooooooooooooooooooooo

His awakening was not peaceful. Miles gasped and sat up, panting as if he had just surfaced from too much time spent holding his breath beneath a pool of water... the water he felt like he was drowning in. Nightmares... they were nothing new to the prosecutor, but that didn't mean he was desensitized to what his dreams could show him... especially when it was such a vivid memory...

With a soft groan, Miles slumped back against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. The first time it had happened... the first night... the night his destruction had begun... He'd started to get rebellious and defiant as most teenagers did... but Manfred had instantly stomped that right out of him... by taking complete control, by expelling that defiance and rebellious attitude right out of him. He had not made threats or simply beaten him... No... it had been so much more than that, and Miles didn't think he'd ever forget the pain, the fear, the humiliation and feeling of worthlessness he had felt that first time he'd become a victim of that man's sadism.

And what that dream had shown him was the aftermath, when he had been so traumatized and hurt that breaking him had been so easy. Yes, he had resisted further after that night, but not for very long. He'd been violently beaten and abused, forced to wear that collar all the time and keep it hidden beneath the collar of his shirts. The pain and the mind games had soon broken his spirit, and by the time that degrading video had been made, his strength and will to fight had been all but gone. In fact... if memory served him right... that had been the last time he'd ever tried to get away, although his pleading for mercy had never really stopped... but Manfred hadn't ever seemed to mind that... Miles supposed he'd enjoyed it...

With a shaky sob, he rolled over, burying his face in his arms once more as he felt that burning in his throat and behind his eyes that signaled the presence of new tears even after he'd thought they had run dry. As if the memories and the hurt hadn't been bad enough... That dream had made it all so much clearer in his mind.

"...Miles?"

Even though her voice was quiet and gentle, it startled him badly. He turned onto his back quickly with a small gasp, looking with wide eyes at the slightly-surprised look on Franziska's face as she stood in the open doorway. He swallowed, trying to calm himself, but he didn't speak, too shaken and upset.

"...I... heard you shouting... Are you... all right...?" She looked nervous, but she began to walk toward him, truly concerned despite what was going on in her own mind.

Miles looked away from her, saying nothing. His answer was 'no', but he didn't say it. His reaction spoke for him, and thus Franziska had to just put aside her feelings and come back to his side, to try and comfort her lover.

"...Miles... I'm sorry, I just..."

"...You don't have to say anything..." he mumbled, still looking away from her even as she embraced him. "...You're disgusted... I don't... blame you..."

She bit her bottom lip, and then shook her head, hugging him closer and placing a timid kiss against his forehead. "No... That's... that's not it, Miles, I swear it... I'm just... I just don't know how to deal with this... It's... not your fault..."

Once again, Miles gave no verbal response to this, but he finally turned to rest his head against her shoulder and somewhat complete the embrace. He just needed to try and take comfort in her presence... even knowing that she wasn't exactly comfortable herself.

"...For how long... did this go on...?" She needed answers. This had all been kept from her until now, and though the truth was horrifying to her, she wouldn't settle for only knowing part of it.

"...Until the day of his arrest..." Miles whispered, swallowing hard as that memory too returned to him, how he'd realized just how badly he'd been deceived, used, and betrayed. That weight had been overbearing, and he wasn't sure how he'd mostly kept his cool there in the courtroom.

Franziska had a very unpleasant look on her face, this information disturbing her greatly, but she couldn't back away... couldn't let this get to her. She still had questions she needed answered. "...And the woman...?" she asked, her voice quivering slightly. "...Who was the woman that filmed that...?"

He took in a shaky breath, swallowing that air before he gave his response. "...She was... s-someone that worked with him... a-at the prosecutors' offices... I... I think... she was... his secretary..."

"...But... why...?" she heard herself asking, not understand this at all. Not only could she not imagine her father doing something like this, but getting some woman from work to film it?

"D-don't ask me that..." he whispered, shaking his head. "I don't know... F-for nine years I wanted to know why..."

"...I'm sorry..." She looked away, feeling a small amount of disappointment, but scolding herself for even thinking to ask that question. Of course he wouldn't know why... for there was no reason that could justify doing that to someone, not to them anyway. There had to be some reason behind it all though... even if it wouldn't justify such cruelty.

However, there was just one more thing she needed to know, and it was very important.

"...Was that the only video?"

Silence, painfully-heavy silence followed this question, and you could have cut the tension with a knife until Miles finally gave her the answer she'd been dreading.

"...no..."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she sat up straighter. "Miles, you have to tell me who is in possession of those videos, who released one...? They might... release the others..."

Miles gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, gripping the fabric of her dress in his fingers. "I... I don't know..." he whimpered, shaking his head. "...It... it c-could be her... I-it was... a-all her idea to begin with..."

And this was when all the pain vanished from Franziska's light blue-gray eyes to be replaced with fire and determination. "Miles... we have to stop this... I'm not going to let someone destroy your reputation like this."

Slowly, Miles raised his head to look at her in astonishment, trying to blink away the tears he couldn't seem to stop shedding. "W-what...?"

"We're going to Germany," Franziska stated, her resolve restored. "No one disgraces my family and gets away with it!" Perhaps she had sounded a bit like her father in that moment, but she wasn't referring to him. Miles was her family now, had been for eighteen years, first as a sibling-like figure, and now as her lover. She would do whatever it took to preserve what was left of his honor, and by extension, her own.

Miles bit his lip, now looking extremely nervous and unsure. "...Franziska, I... I don't know if I can-"

"I don't want to hear that from you, Miles Edgeworth," she scolded him, though her tone was more gentle than it would have been with anyone else. She leaned in to press a kiss to his lips before speaking again, her tone now soft and encouraging. "You are stronger than that... If you were able to hide this so well... and then put it all behind you within a matter of a year, you can do this. I don't think you want any more of this getting out... do you?"

He looked at her for a moment longer, and then bowed his head. "...Of course not..."

"That's what I thought. Now... get some rest..." She pressed another kiss to his lips and coaxed him to lie down against his pillow. "...I will book our flight. We'll be leaving as soon as possible."

Miles took a moment to compose himself, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "...th-thank you... Franziska..." he whispered, truly grateful for the strength she was showing, for the initiative she was taking to get him back on his feet and to salvage what was left of his honor. "...I love you..."

She smiled, brushing his bangs away from his eyes and watching him close them. "I love you, too... no matter what happened to you in the past..."

Her words were a comfort, and they allowed him to relax just a bit more in preparation to fall asleep, to rest and recover from the worst day he'd had in a while. He felt her leave his side, but he knew she would return when she was finished with what she had to do to prepare for their departure.

Confronting his past... He'd never wanted to do it... but today had taught him that running away and keeping it all inside could only harm him further. So, it was time to turn and fight... He just had to hope it wasn't too late to come out the victor.


	5. Chapter 4: Welcome Home

**Quicksand**

**Chapter 4: Welcome Home**

He felt as if he was going mad.

Being out in public was a constant panic for Miles. It was pure paranoia, Franziska assured him, but he felt as if every single person was staring at him, staring right into him, judging him. He couldn't calm down, the anxiety causing his breathing to be heavy and quick, his vision to be unfocused, and his hands to shake. All that kept him going was his lover's firm grip on his arm as they moved through the airport and boarded their flight to Germany. He refused to look around after a while, just staring at the floor as they took their seats in First Class.

Miles sat next to the window, wanting to get as far from the other passengers as he could in this enclosed area. How the hell was he supposed to sit through the entire flight like this, constantly on edge and-

"Here." He looked up at Franziska to see her holding a medicine bottle in one hand and offering a small pill to him in the other. "I had a feeling you would need this..."

He recognized the bottle; she'd taken his sleep aids from the medicine cabinet and brought them along in her carry-on bag. He took the pill and thanked her, and then waved over a flight attendant to ask for a bottle of water, considering liquids were not allowed to be brought onto the plane by passengers.

Well, the drug didn't work miracles, but he did relax a bit, and later on into the flight, he was able to fall asleep. This trip was always so long, and it was a relief when they landed in Germany... sort of...

Miles didn't feel any more secure here at the Frankfurt Airport than he had back in Los Angeles, but fortunately, they didn't have to be in the building nearly as long. All they had to do was grab their luggage and then make their way out to the hired car that would be taking them to the magnificent Von Karma Manor on the outskirts of the city of Bitburg. There they would be out of the public eye, only accompanied in the huge house by the servants that kept it while the last remaining members of the family were not using it, which were only Miles and Franziska now. She had a sister, but no one ever heard from her and she had nothing to do with them. Miles hadn't ever met her and just had to take Franziska's word for it that she even existed.

But it was as they pulled up to the large manor that Miles knew he wouldn't feel much better here either. This was where it had all started... where his torment had taken place for four long years, and the six he'd spent in it before that weren't all a basket of roses to begin with. Yes, they had some happy memories here... all of them involving his time spent with the girl he'd at that time called his sister. Looking back on that, he inwardly laughed. How could they not have known, even then, that it was more than that? It had probably been the age difference; they couldn't really have been anything more during the time he was living here, for she had been far too young.

And after what had started when he was sixteen... well... he wondered how he'd ever justified the relationship in his mind, but that certainly didn't mean it felt wrong. He loved her, had always loved her in some form or another, and he sincerely hoped that her presence alongside him would make staying here and completing this task seem less impossible to him.

"_Herr Edgeworth. Frau von Karma. _Welcome." The suited man gave them a bow as he greeted them upon their entry into the house. "Shall I take your bags?"

"_Ja. Dankeschoen, Mein Herr," _Franziska replied politely, handing off her suitcase as Miles did the same, staying silent. No one here seemed to be looking at him strangely... Were they all clueless...? Perhaps this news hadn't made it overseas... even considering that this was the country his mentor had resided in, where he'd been trained. Ah well... if it hadn't really been big news here in Germany, he wasn't about to complain, but it just seemed unlikely, being the point of origin and all.

They were greeted by every member of the serving staff and welcomed back to the house, but Miles was simply eager to get away from everyone and get some privacy. They were allowed this soon enough, and later on that evening found him and Franziska sitting on a plush two-seater couch in the library, a fire alight in the fireplace and two glasses of wine sitting on the expensive wooden table before them. They had been mostly silent as they sat here together in the dim lighting, but it was a comfortable silence. They were both inwardly reminiscing about all the times they'd sat here together as children, reading or studying. Those were the happy moments he had in this house, and he was glad to be dwelling on them instead of the memories that lurked only about ten feet behind them, closed off and locked away behind a heavy wooden door.

"It's been so long..." Franziska stated, her soft voice breaking the silence as she slowly twirled her wine glass between her fingers before taking a small sip. "Did you ever think we would be here again... like this, I mean?" She looked over at him, the firelight reflected in her bright blue-gray eyes.

Miles gazed into them for a long time, watching the flames dance and getting lost for a few moments. He then gave a soft chuckle, managing to crack a tiny smile. "Not really..." he replied, sipping from his own glass of wine and then placing it back on the coffee table. "But I am certainly glad that we are... After all... the happiest moments I have are with you at my side."

A faint blush colored her cheeks, and the young woman turned her head away for a moment with a soft giggle. "...You're such a foolish romantic, Miles Edgeworth," she said, looking back up at him and leaning over to press a kiss to his lips. "Mmm..." she murmured after doing so, her smile becoming a bit brighter as she drew away a short distance. "The wine tastes better that way," she purred, leaning in for another kiss to taste the wine on his lips.

This got another soft laugh out of the male prosecutor, and he gladly joined in those kisses, reaching up to smooth her hair back from her face and entwine his fingers in it. Slowly, he felt Franziska's weight shift, and she was soon sitting in his lap, their kisses having become passionate and heated. Her hands rested on either side of his head, and his were on her thin waist, the wine, the lighting, and the warmth of the fire creating the perfect romantic atmosphere to let them get lost in the passion between them.

Franziska soon pulled away, her breathing slightly heavier than normal. "Come on..." she whispered, the want easy to detect in her voice and her expression. "...Let's take this upstairs..."

He felt the weight removed from his lap and her smaller hand taking hold of his to lead him, but this was when Miles was hit with reality again, or rather the effects of his own reality.

"...Franziska... I can't..."

She blinked in confusion, staring down at him from where she was now standing in front of him. "...What do you mean?"

"...I'll go with you... but only to sleep..." he murmured, now staring at the carpet beneath them.

That confusion lingered for a moment, and then her expression fell to something like hurt. "Miles, I don't know what's going on in your head, but... this is now, not then... There is no reason to... change how we are because of where we are..."

Miles bit his lip slightly and turned his head to the side, looking away. "...I'm sorry..." he whispered. "I know I'm being foolish, but... you don't understand... Please, it's not you..." He looked up at her, trying to show her his sincerity and pleading for understanding in his eyes.

She stared for a moment, and then sighed sadly. Yes, it hurt, but... she knew she had to be understanding and patient with him. "Very well... Let's just... turn in for the night then..." she murmured.

He nodded and stood up, but before they headed upstairs, he took a moment to embrace her. "...I'm truly sorry..." he swore. "...I love you, and... and I'll get through this... for you... Then, I'll make it up to you... I promise..."

She was silent and still, taking a couple of seconds to just enjoy the embrace and then looking up at him, forcing a smile. "...I love you too, Miles, and I know you'll get through this... I can wait for you..." She leaned up to place a small, affectionate kiss against his lips, and then moved from the embrace, taking his hand once more. "Now come... We've had a long day."

Indeed they had, and Miles could feel the exhaustion setting in as they made their way out of the library and up the grand staircase. Hopefully, it wouldn't be long before he could clear his head and recover from the trauma that he had never truly taken the steps to overcome. He knew they had a battle ahead of them, but he was determined to do this the right way this time around. Maybe then he could get on with his life, and let no more distractions come between himself and the woman he truly loved.

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Well, it was the most obvious place to begin the search, the prosecutors' offices where Manfred and his secretary had worked while he was in Germany and not traveling elsewhere. Miles didn't really hate this place quite as much. Yes, he'd been here a few times with his mentor to observe him working... or just because he wasn't allowed to stay at the house by himself after all of that had started. Franziska had also worked here from the time she was thirteen until she'd begun to travel and make frequent trips to America.

Many people recognized them, more so Franziska than Miles, but it was now that Miles began to notice a few curious glances. He tried to tell himself he was being paranoid, but even logic told him that most of them knew...

"Oh! _Frau von Karma_! What a surprise!" A bubbly woman with heavily-curled blond hair looked at the two of them with surprise, long lashes raised slightly as her icy blue eyes widened.

"Yes, hello, _Frau Isold_," Franziska greeted the woman with a professional air. "I'm afraid I will only be here for a short amount of time; my visit is rather urgent..." She then paused, noticing how the woman's eyes seemed to keep going over to the man standing at her side, and a bit of possessive jealousy flared up within her, seeing another woman checking out her lover. She took Miles' hand and held it close to her. "...And this is Miles Edgeworth. He has accompanied me here to take care of some business..."

"Oh, uhm..." The blond was blushing slightly, giving him a nervous smile. "Well, it is... good to meet you, _Herr Edgeworth_."

Miles said nothing.

Franziska looked over at him, and then just laughed, shaking her head. "In any case, I would like to speak with the chief prosecutor."

"Of course!" the older woman exclaimed, snapping out of her dreamy, girlish state and smiling brightly. "I'll go tell him you've come by!" She gave them a cheery wave and trotted off, her curls bouncing lightly as she went down the hall.

Franziska watched her go, and then turned back to Miles. "...Are you doing all right, Love?" she asked, kissing him lightly on the cheek while no one was around.

"...Fine..." he replied, not even looking at her, which made it clear to her that this wasn't true. She was about to call him on it and demand to know what was bothering him, but a familiar voice stopped her.

"_Fraulein_! What a pleasant turn of events!" The man walking toward them looked to be in his mid-thirties. He wore a burgundy suit with dark gold trim, a white collared shirt and matching tie visible beneath the suit jacket. He sported neatly-combed black hair that was grown just a little longer than average, just long enough for his bangs to cover his forehead and reach his eyes and the strands in the back to reach the collar of his jacket. He was a rather well-built man and on level height with Miles. He stepped up to them and shook Franziska's hand, grinning. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming back."

Franziska shook his hand politely, but didn't look as enthused to see him as he was to see her. "Yes, well... I will not be here for very long, _Mein Herr,_" she informed him.

The chief prosecutor laughed. "Always working, aren't you, _Fraulein_? I do hope you'll take a few moments to catch up, though." He then turned his attention to Miles. "Ah, and you must be _Herr Edgeworth_," he said, offering a handshake to Miles as well. Miles accepted it, but the shake was brief.

"Yes... I suppose we didn't ever meet face-to-face, _Herr Astor_." He was trying to maintain his cool, but it was obvious that all was not well.

And the chief prosecutor knew exactly why. "Heh... Well, I thought I would be meeting you soon anyhow," he said with that same smile, although a flash of something in his dark brown eyes confirmed the meaning of his words to Miles. The younger man bit back a snarl and retracted his hand, folding his arms and fixing him with a cold look.

Astor just laughed, then turned to Franziska. "So, Amelinda tells me you wish to speak with me."

Franziska nodded. "Yes..." She then turned to Miles. "...Wait here..." she murmured, the look on her face telling him that she knew what had just happened. She then turned, walking past the chief prosecutor toward his office. He followed, but looked to the blond woman as he walked by her.

"Keep _Herr Edgeworth_ entertained, won't you, Amelinda?"

"Of course, _Mein Herr,_" she replied, biting lightly on one of her ruby-red nails, looking a bit nervous.

Franziska refrained from saying anything and just walked with Astor into his office, the door swinging closed behind them.

"So, _Fraulein_, to what do I owe the honor?" he asked as he walked over to his desk in preparation to take a seat behind it.

"Stop the flattery, Ewald," Franziska said coldly, folding her arms and glaring at him. "I'd like to get this finished with and out of here as soon as possible. I don't plan on shooting the breeze while you ogle me."

A laugh of light amusement was his initial response as Ewald Astor took a seat in his large office chair and leaned back in it a bit, looking completely relaxed. "Now, why would I do something like that, _Klein Mädchen...?"_ he asked, drumming his fingers lightly on one of the arm rests of the chair.

Franziska gritted her teeth, slamming her palms on his desk and glaring daggers across at him. "Show some respect, you incorrigible pig!" she snapped fiercely. "I'm here because of recent events and believe me, you are the LAST person I wanted to have to speak to about this!"

He didn't seem at all effected by the venom she was spitting, just smirking at her, his eyes fixed calmly on her from just beneath his veil of bangs. "Ah, yes... That...I've always said that celebrities need to keep a better handle on their old sex tapes."

Oh, it took every ounce of self-control Franziska had to keep from smacking him. "_Schweinhund!"_ she spat at him. "How dare you! I want to know who has those tapes, because I'm willing to wager that you know!"

"Hey, hey, hey," he said, waving his hand at her slightly as if to ward off her anger. "No need for the harsh words and name-calling, _Klein Mädchen_. Who says I know anything about that? All the man-on-man action isn't really my thing, you know. I don't make it my business to know anything about that."

"This is more than just some disgusting pornography flick!" she exclaimed, furious. "People who worked here were involved in attempting to destroy Miles' reputation! I want to know what happened to the woman who worked as my father's secretary during that time!"

Ewald inclined his head, looking at her quizzically. "...And why should I tell you that?" he inquired. "You've been rather rude to me since our talk began... I see no reason to do you any favors, _Fraulein_?"

"Because this isn't about me!" she retorted. "Not only is what those videos depict illegal, but their non-permitted release is a direct personal attack on Miles! If your employees are involved, it is your responsibility to help ensure that these actions are stopped!"

Slowly, Ewald leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands on his desk. "...Heh... It's not going to be that easy, _Klein Mädchen..._" he said, smirking across at her. "I can't just... give information about someone away without any solid grounds. All we know about that woman in that video is what her right hand looked like. How, with only that information, can you automatically assume that she was your father's secretary? That seems to be quite a random deduction..."

A challenge. Well, Franziska had never been one to back down from a challenge. "I have the victim's testimony," she stated calmly, though she was still glaring back at him. "That is enough cause to investigate."

"Really now...?" He wasn't giving in that easily. "And what about the other man in the video?" he asked. "Why aren't you looking for him with both guns blazing, hm?"

She felt her chest tighten up and her stomach churn. Her resolve cracked momentarily, but she pulled herself together quickly. "I know who he is as well, and he is no longer around to be brought to justice for his crime or to question. The only one left that could be responsible for this is the woman filming, and according to Miles, that is my father's former secretary."

Ewald was silent for a brief period of time, appearing to be in deep consideration. He then stood up, his palm brushing over the polished surface of his desk as he walked around it to stand in front of Franziska without that piece of furniture between them. "Very well, _Fraulein_, I'll give you a name, but I want something in return."

Franziska gritted her teeth, glaring up at him angrily. "What is it, Ewald?"

oooooooooooooooooooo

Miles stood there and watched Franziska and the chief prosecutor walk into the office at the end of the hall, and as soon as the door closed behind them, he turned to walk in the opposite direction, to find somewhere to sit and wait, somewhere away from-

"Oh, where are you going, _Herr Edgeworth_?" the blond woman asked, looking upset that he was walking away. She was quite attractive, looking rather young for being in her late thirties. Her high heels clicked against the floor as she moved toward him, as if to guide him back to the bench set out in the hall for people to wait on.

Miles took another step away from her, clenching his teeth. "Don't you dare touch me, Isold," he hissed, something showing in his expression that was rarely seen of him in public: fear.

"Ahhh... So you do remember...?" Her cheery voice had suddenly become low and seductive. She gave him a coy smile and batted those long lashes at him. "Why so hostile? It's been sooo long... Just have a seat. Let's chat..." As she spoke, her long, slender fingers closed around his wrist, those bright red nails pressing lightly against his skin.

Miles wrenched his hand away, the tightness in his chest making his breathing slightly more labored. "I said don't touch me!" he snapped.

She gave a soft chuckle, simply taking a step closer to him and gripping his shoulders firmly. "Oh, _Schatzi_... don't be that way..." she purred. "Come on..." She didn't look it, but she was powerful, and this coupled with Miles' current state made it easy for her to guide him over to the bench and sit him down. He was extremely tense and stiff, his fists clenched in his lap. He was determined not to look at her, and he cursed his weakness. Why couldn't he stand up to her! This was pathetic!

He felt the cushion he sat upon shift as she sat down beside him, much too close for comfort. He shuddered as he felt the tip of the nail on her index finger move over his lips and her breath breeze lightly against his neck. "My, you've grown," she murmured, now cupping his chin in her hand and pressing those nails lightly into his cheek, just beneath his eye. "I was so upset when you and _Herr von Karma_ left for America... I thought I'd never see you again..."

"I was hoping for it..." he replied bitterly, hating this contact, wishing he had the strength to push her away, get up, and leave, but he felt frozen. Her touch was like ice, freezing his blood and putting him at her mercy.

Her expression showed some disappointment and hurt, but it wasn't genuine. "_Schatzi_, you've become so cold... Poor thing... Do you miss Master...?"

He was certain his heart had stopped in that instant, all color draining from his face. Panic set in, and he made a sudden move to get up and escape, but he didn't get that far. He gave a hiss of pain as those nails dug sharply into the side of his face where her fingers had still been resting.

"Ah, ah, ah..." Amelinda said as if correcting a child. She pulled him back and then pinned him against the wall behind them. "You're supposed to wait here for _Frau von Karma_ to return, remember...?" As she spoke, she was shifting again, and before he could do anything about it, she was leaning over him, her full red lips pressed hard against his own, those nails still pressing into his skin painfully.

And right on cue, he heard a gasp. His entire body lurched, and Amelinda echoed the gasp, standing up quickly with a bright red blush on her cheeks. "Ach! _F-Frau von Karma! _I, um, we..."

Franziska – having been utterly furious after her conversation with Ewald that had ended up going nowhere – had walked out of his office just in time to see what looked like Miles and Ewald's secretary making out. She was completely stunned, her pale face and her shocked expression made it clear that she had taken this in the worst possible way, and the hurt in her wide blue-gray eyes showed that she felt as if he'd just stabbed her right in the heart.

Perhaps if she hadn't been so angry and upset already, she might've stopped to try and understand, to clear things up, to ask Miles why he'd done it, but that wasn't what she did.

The heels of her boots hit the floor at a rapid speed as she bolted past the two of them, holding back tears of frustration and pain. "Franziska!" Miles called after her, horrified at what was happening. He stood up as he called for her, but he didn't give chase, knowing in that moment that she wouldn't hear him out... that a heavy blow had just been dealt to his relationship.

"Oops... You should have told me earlier, _Schatzi_..."

And it was all because of her... He felt a blinding fury rising up within him, and he turned on her, his eyes blazing and his teeth borne. "You! Conniving bitch! How dare you!"

Far from frightened of his anger, Amelinda tsk'ed at him. "Now that was uncalled for," she pouted, before stepping up to him and taking a hold of his shoulders once again. "Look, darling, I know exactly why you're here," she murmured, now getting to the situation at hand.

He was shaking, wanting so badly to push her off of him, hard, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. "I know it was you," he growled, trying to remain steady, but finding it impossible.

She just chuckled. "...Why don't we take this out of the hallway?" she suggested, taking his wrist to lead him toward the open door of her office. When he didn't budge, she inclined her head slightly. "Unless, of course, you want more of them to 'mysteriously' make their way into the public domain...?"

He needed to go back to the manor...to try and explain this to Franziska, to assure her that there was nothing at all like that between himself and Amelinda, but... he was trapped. She was forcing him to comply, and so reluctantly and with a heavy heart he went with her, allowing himself to be led into her office and for the door to be closed.

"Have a seat," she offered/demanded, sitting him down on the cheap fake-leather couch near the door. She then sat down beside him once more, leaning over against him and placing a hand against his chest, stroking the fabric covering it lightly. "Now... what did you come here to discuss, _Schatzi_?"

He wished she'd stop calling him that... It was degrading and only brought back old pain, but... that was what she was trying to do, wasn't it? "...I know you have those tapes," he said, refusing to look at her. "I want them destroyed... All of them..."

"Oh, but why...?" she pouted, leaning in to him further so that now her lips were on his neck. He didn't think he could get any more tense as she kissed him, and then began sucking at the skin, her nails now lightly tracing circles on his throat. "You made such a good little pet... I think that's worth remembering... preserving... don't you?"

"N-no!" he snapped, sounding much more panicked than he'd intended to. "Y-you're not about to ruin my life, Amelinda."

"You're so dramatic, _Schatzi_," she said with a laugh, now moving to straddle the prosecutor's lap, proving wrong Miles' theory that he couldn't get any more tense. "I just want people to know the truth... Isn't that what you're always preaching about now days: the truth?"

"G-get off of me!" he hissed, finally making an attempt to fight back, but she put a stop to it.

"Ah, ah, ah... Be a good boy, _Schatzi_," she murmured, pinning his shoulders to the back of the couch and pressing a hard kiss to his lips before pulling back to speak again. "If I were you... I'd cooperate. You'll do what I want, or the world will get another look at who Miles Edgeworth _**really**_is..."

He was trapped... There was no way out of this... If he resisted, he knew she would make good on her threat to release another video, but he could only dread what she wanted from him. This woman was a devious, conniving, sadistic witch despite the cheery, bubbly, air-headed front she displayed for just about everyone else.

"I've missed you sooomuch, _Schatzi_," she whispered, placing hungry kisses against his throat, and he half-expected her to sink her teeth in like some sort of animal. "I've always wanted you to myself... Looks like I finally get my chance, hm?"

All he could think about in this moment was Franziska... He'd never once had the desire to betray her, but he had no choice...

_Franziska... Es tut mir Leid... Ich liebe dich..._


	6. Chapter 5: Lie Down

**Quicksand**

**Chapter 5: Lie Down**

Franziska couldn't remember the last time she'd cried so much... It had probably been when she'd received the call that a suicide note had been found in Miles' office. She had felt betrayed and abandoned back then... just as she felt now.

The tear-soaked pillow was uncomfortable to lie on, but she barely registered this. Franziska had managed to hold herself together long enough to take a cab home and tell the serving staff not to allow Miles entry back into the house. Then, as soon as she'd reached the room they'd been staying in and closed the door, she'd lost it.

Coming here had been such a mistake! First, she was asked to whore herself out for information, and after refusing and screaming a few fierce curses, she'd stormed out of Ewald's office to see Miles deep in a kiss with that blond secretary right in the middle of the hallway. Shameless! How could he do this to her...? She had never thought him capable of something like this... but... she had learned so much about him recently that she was beginning to wonder if she really knew Miles at all...

And he hadn't even arrived home yet... She'd asked to know if he'd tried to come back in, and no one had said a thing so far. Hah! He was probably still at the prosecutors' offices with that blond scank! How could he do this to her! She had come here for him, faced Astor for him, and this was how he repaid her!

Just another man, she supposed...

oooooooooooooooooo

"Oh, _Schatzi_, you've lost your touch..." Amelinda sounded incredibly disappointed as she stood and straightened out her dress, peering down at the prosecutor she had undressed and handcuffed to one of the legs of the couch they had earlier been sitting on.

Miles was breathing heavily and biting back reactions to the pain he was in, refusing to show the weakness she remembered him for. He couldn't quite manage a glare at the moment, but he was working on it.

She sighed. "Ah well... Maybe it's me. I guess I'm just not as good at this as _Herr von Karma _was..." She crouched down in front of him once more, tracing her index finger over his lips. "...But don't worry... I'll learn..."

Finally, he mustered the strength to glare at her. "I didn't come back here to take up my old life; I came here to remove all trace of it!"

She chuckled softly, pressing a light kiss to his lips. "And you're doing such a good job of it," she cooed, mocking him as she finally reached down to unlock the cuffs and release him. She seemed to know he was far too much of a gentleman to strike her, but oh did he want to!

Miles grabbed his discarded clothing and began to dress as quickly as possible, hating the feel of her eyes fixed on him the entire time. Then, as he finished doing up the clasp of his belt, he felt her hands on his neck. He froze, refusing to look back at her while her fingers moved over his skin.

"You know... You just don't look the same without the collar..." she observed, sounding now saddened. "What did you do with it, _Schatzi_? You looked so adorable with it on..."

Miles gritted his teeth, growling his response through them. "I burned it. Now get your hands off of me..."

She sighed, removing her hands from his neck and just letting him finish dressing himself, still watching with a smoldering gaze. "It's because I'm a woman, isn't it, _Schatzi_?" she inquired. "I'm not going to get you to respect me the way you did him, am I?"

He hated this question, but when it came down to it... he had respected and obeyed Manfred, out of fear, but nonetheless... So, he didn't need to correct her; he just answered her question. "No... You're not, and your gender doesn't have a damn thing to do with it." With that, he'd finished dressing, and before she could torment him any further, he pulled her office door open and walked out. He was in a lot of pain, but he focused all of his efforts on not letting it show. He left that building and drove the black Mercedes back to the manor with as much dignity as possible.

But it was as he made his way up to the front door that he couldn't hold that weakness back any longer, and he had to hold himself up using the porch railing as he fished for his keys to unlock the front door and enter.

However, he was surprised when one of the butlers opened the door from the inside, as if they'd been waiting for him.

"_Ich bin Leid__, Herr Edgeworth_, but _Frau von Karma _has given us the strict order not to allow you entry into this house."

He felt his heart sink upon hearing this, and the desperation surfaced once more. "_Bitte..._ If I'm not allowed in... tell her to come to the door. I... must speak with her..."

The butler nodded and turned to call the request out to another servant so that he could stand guard by the door as he had been ordered to. He couldn't help but look at Miles; the prosecutor looked as if he'd been beat up. He was breathing a bit too heavily and didn't appear to be able to stand up properly. There were also four long scratches running down one side of his face that had obviously been bleeding at one point, as if some vicious animal had clawed him.

As he waited, Miles stared down at the porch, not meeting the other man's eye. God, he hoped Franziska would hear him out... He couldn't lose her because of that bitch... and his own weakness...

The sound of heels on the hardwood floor of the foyer alerted him to her approach. The butler stepped aside, and Franziska appeared in the doorway, her whip in her hand and scorn fixed on her face... though her puffy red eyes were the tell-tale sign that she had been crying.

"I take it you've come for your belongings," she snapped, her icy tone cutting into his already-scarred heart.

"Franziska... Look at me..." He was now leaning heavily on the railing, his pained gray eyes pleading for her to hear him out, to believe him.

Franziska's bottom lip curled in, a sign that her fierce exterior was cracking. No... he didn't look like he'd been making out with that woman... He looked like he was hurt. It was a mark of her love for him that she didn't send him away, that she just stood there and waited for his explanation, because she wanted it to be good... She wanted it to be believable and the truth and... to know that he hadn't betrayed her.

"It's her..." he said, now panting slightly with his fatigue and the anxiety and stress this was causing him. "Amelinda Isold... _Herr Astor's _secretary... She worked for your father... She was the one who... filmed all of that... She has the tapes... And what you saw was another attempt to sabotage me... Please... Y-you have to believe me... I want nothing to do with her, a-and the only reason I didn't go after you earlier was... she's... h-holding those tapes over my head to... to get me to... do what she wants..."

To no one else would he admit these things, but to Franziska he couldn't hold them back. He was on the verge of losing her, and he loved her, two very good reasons to tell all.

And she was stunned. Franziska stared at him, the hand wielding her whip now hanging at her side, the object forgotten. "_Frau Isold... _But she's just another dim-witted secretary that only got her job because of her looks..."

"No..." he assured her. "...She's pure evil... She's mastered the art of manipulation... The cheerfulness and ditsy behavior... it's all an act... She's vile... cruel... and controlling... Please... I'm telling the truth... I would never... betray you, Franziska... You... you know that... d-don't you...?"

She stood there staring at him for a long time, a fierce battle going on between her heart and mind. Finally, her trust in him won over, and she rushed to him. She threw her arms around him and let those tears fall once more, but this time out of an overwhelming sense of relief. "Miles... I... believe you... I'm so sorry... I... I should have trusted you..."

Miles said nothing, but breathed a heavy sigh of relief, so much tension having lifted from his shoulders at that moment. He put one arm around her in the embrace, not wanting to have to put his weight on her, just keeping it on the railing for now. "...thank you, Franziska..." he whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"No... No, don't apologize," Franziska whispered, pulling out of the embrace and taking a firm hold of his arm. "Come inside. You're hurt..." The concern had replaced all the hatred that had been so prominent in her eyes when she'd first come to the door. He was glad to see it, and nodded, following her lead back into the house, eager for the chance to lie down and rest for a while, to be in her arms once again after the worst reminder of his past he'd endured so far...

oooooooooooooooooo

"**You will be on your absolute best behavior, you will be perfectly polite, and you will not speak unless spoken to. Do you understand me, boy?"**

"**...Yes, Master..." Miles was almost grateful for being in public... That meant that he could drop that title while around other people... It was only the tiniest relief, but here, he was Manfred's student, not his... toy...**

**The sixteen-year-old walked just a step behind his mentor through the halls of the district prosecution office building. He was accompanying Manfred into work under the pretense of getting some practical knowledge of this line of work by observing him, but Miles was no naive child... He knew he was here because Franziska wasn't at home and Manfred was convinced that he would go out and do something he wasn't supposed to if he didn't have the nine-year-old girl to watch out for. So, as if he was some kind of trouble-making child that needed constant supervision, he had to be brought into work.**

"_**Guten Morgan, Herr von Karma,**_**" chimed the cheery voice of a young woman with curly blond hair, standing up from a desk in the office just beside Manfred's, a large file on her arm. "I have all of the copies you asked for right here."**

"**Thank you," Manfred replied with a curt nod, taking the folder from her. "**_**Frau Isold**_**, this is my student, Miles Edgeworth. He is accompanying me today for instructive purposes."**

**The secretary's eyes drifted down to the handsome face of the teen at her boss's shoulder. "Oh, well hello there, Miles," she said with a bright smile, as if speaking to someone much younger. Miles had the instant urge to glare at her and demand she refer to him as '**_**Herr Edgeworth**_**', but he refrained from doing so while Manfred was around.**

"**...**_**Guten Morgan, Frau Isold...**_**" he murmured, his voice rather quiet, as if he was shy.**

**Amelinda giggled and placed a tiny kiss on his cheek. "You're a cutie!" she stated before walking past the two men and down the hall, heading for the copier room.**

**Miles watched her go, reaching up to wipe the kiss away. He was horrified to feel a slight bit of heat, indicating that he was blushing. He could just feel the glare drilling right into him, and he didn't look up to confirm Manfred's expression.**

"**Come," the older man ordered sharply, taking hold of Miles' arm and leading him to the next door down the hallway, unlocking it and walking inside. Miles stood near the door as it swung closed of its own accord, just watching Manfred walk to his desk and set down the file he was carrying before beginning to unpack what he needed from his briefcase. Everything seemed to have its own precise location on the desk or elsewhere in the office, and when he'd finished unpacking, it actually looked as if all the new objects belonged permanently in the room, not like portable additions haphazardly placed wherever there was space in the rush to get started with a busy day.**

**When this procedure was finished, Manfred turned his attention briefly to Miles. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to the expensive-looking couch set against the wall on the visitor's side of his desk. Miles always felt a rage build up within him when he was spoken to this way, like a misbehaving dog, but he had to take it and just... do what he was told. Slowly and without a word, Miles moved to take a seat on the couch, finding that it was rather comfortable. "You will stay there until I tell you otherwise," came the rest of Manfred's instructions before his attention was diverted to his work.**

**And so, Miles found himself just... sitting there while Manfred read and filled out papers. It was excruciatingly boring, and he had no idea how this could be passed off as practical knowledge of the job. Perhaps if he could see what was on those papers it would be more beneficial, but that wasn't the case. He couldn't help it: he began to doze off against the arm of the couch, slumped in an awkward position. However, he hadn't been sleeping well at all for... well, a while now, so it wasn't that difficult for him to fall asleep even if he wasn't all that comfortable.**

"**Ohhhh... Poor thing. He was probably up all night being all excited about getting to go to work with you, huh?"**

**Miles gasped, sitting up straight and hurriedly wiping the sleep from his eyes, horrified at being caught sleeping and annoyed that the first thing he'd heard upon waking was that annoyingly-chipper voice.**

"**Anyway, **_**Herr Astor **_**wants to see you, **_**Mein Herr. **_**He says it's concerning yesterday's investigation."**

**Manfred simply nodded and stood. "Very well... Would you mind remaining in here while I am absent, **_**Meine Frau**_**, and ensure that he does not leave his place?"**

"**Oh, not at all! Don't worry about a thing!" She gave him a little wave and a smile as he walked out of the office. Miles found himself wondering how she didn't drive Manfred insane with her sunshine and rainbows personality.**

**When the door closed, Amelinda turned to Miles and smiled brightly. "So, why aren't you in school today, Miles?" she asked, making light conversation with him. "Are you guys out on break?"**

"**...I don't attend school," Miles replied, letting some of that annoyance seep into his voice now that the older man was not present. "**_**Herr von Karma **_**is educating me privately at home. I will be attending law school next year." There! That would show her he wasn't some ignorant child! He would be starting law school at the age of seventeen!**

"**Oh, that's really good!" she exclaimed, and his heart sank at the tone she was still using with him. "You must be **_**reeeally **_**smart, huh?"**

**Finally, he looked over at her with a glare. "**_**Frau Isold, **_**I would be much appreciative if you could speak to me with some measure of respect. I'm not a child."**

**She gasped, being over-dramatic about this. "Ach! I'm SO SORRY, **_**Mein Herr**_**. I meant NO disrespect!" She even bowed to him, and this simply made him sigh and look away angrily.**

"**And so you mock me... Whatever..." He was beyond irritated, and at this point he wasn't sure whom he'd rather be in the office with: his abusive mentor who was just ignoring him, or this bubbly woman that thought she was watching a five-year-old.**

"**Oh, Miles, don't be like that," she muttered, walking over to stand before him, bending at the waist to move a strand of his bangs from his face. "I'm just having fun with you. I guess you take after **_**Herr von Karma **_**with your lack of a sense of humor, hm?"**

"**I simply don't take kindly to being demeaned," he retorted, pulling away from her as best he could while sort of being cornered against the couch. "Nor do I care for your lack of regard for others' personal space."**

**She just chuckled softly, and as if he hadn't just made it clear that she was too close, she sat down right next to him. "You sound just like him, but it just doesn't fit coming from someone so adorable," she cooed, pinching his cheek slightly and making him flinch away.**

**But when he turned his head away from her, it caused that stupid leather collar around his neck to peek over the collar of his dress shirt slightly, and she was close enough to notice it.**

"**Ooo, what's this?" she asked, taking a hold of the item between her thumb and forefinger. "An odd thing to wear around."**

**He couldn't move away from her any further, so he had to reach up and push her hand away. "I'm a goth," he lied off the top of his head. "I don't take it off ever. Now could I have a little breathing room, please?"**

**Amelinda laughed and sighed at the same time, finally moving away from him to stand up. "Always spitting fire, aren't you, **_**Schatzi**_**? How does **_**Herr von Karma **_**deal with you?"**

"**...I was beginning to wonder the same thing about you..." Miles mumbled under his breath, even more annoyed with that cutesy little name she'd just used than when she referred to him by first name. **

**He wasn't sure if she'd heard him or not, but with her lack of a response, he just assumed she hadn't. She walked over to lean against the desk, flicking her nails and singing absent-mindedly to herself while looking around the office. Now things felt a little awkward, but Miles was glad to have his personal bubble all to himself again, and it wasn't too much longer before the door opened and Manfred reappeared.**

"_**Danke, Frau Isold**_**," he said, walking past her to place a new manila folder upon his desk. "Did he behave himself?"**

"**Oh, he wasn't too bad," she commented, waving her hand a bit as if to indicate it was no big deal. "But I can tell he's going to grow up to be just like you, once he gets through his 'goth phase', of course." She gave them both a cheerful smile and a wave. "All right, just let me know if you need anything, as usual!" With that, she left the room, blond curls bouncing as she walked with that ever-present spring in her step.**

**The closing of the heavy office door sounded like the slam of a prison cell to Miles, and he could feel the anger emanating from the German prosecutor.**

"**And what, pray tell, did she mean by that, Miles Edgeworth?" As he spoke, the older man had stepped away from his desk and up to where Miles sat, towering over him and forcing him to look up by taking a hold of his hair and drawing his head back, as he often did.**

**The fear was visible in his eyes. Stupid woman! She couldn't have just said that everything was fine and left it alone, could she? She just had to make it sound like he'd caused her a bunch of trouble, when SHE had been the one who needed some telling off! "N-nothing, Master... She just... she was trying to start ridiculous conversations with me as if I was a young child... and she kept getting much too close. It... was irritating... I... I tried to be decent about it..."**

**The grip on his hair was released, but only so that the same hand could be used to slap him hard across the face, making him gasp and shrink back against the couch cushions. **

"**I cannot imagine what has made you think that you deserve the respect of adults, Miles Edgeworth, but get it out of your head this instant!" Manfred snapped. "To myself and to everyone else here, you ARE a child and you have earned no respect around here. Thus, you do not deserve any and will not receive it. Do you understand me?"**

**Miles bowed his head, staring at his knees. "...Yes, Master... I understand..."**

**He felt that rough hand grip the back of the leather collar around his neck and tug him up and forward. "Come," Manfred ordered, and the teen complied, following him over to the desk and around it. "Kneel," was his next instruction, and slowly, Miles obeyed, descending to his knees by the office chair. Manfred took a seat, just watching the boy tremble with fear and anticipation before him.**

"**Now... **_**Frau Isold **_**made one more comment that I would like an explanation for," he stated, hands folded in his lap. "What exactly did she mean by the words 'goth phase'?"**

**Had the situation not been so grave, Miles might've snickered at hearing Manfred say this, for it didn't suit his always-formal attitude to have just used such slang, even when repeating it from someone else. However, Miles also dreaded having to answer this question, simply because he would have to acknowledge the mark of his own enslavement.**

"**...As I... said before, she was... much too close..." he murmured, his head still bowed. "...She noticed my... m-my collar... a-and asked why I was... wearing it... I... I didn't know what else to say, so... I just told her that... I was a goth and wore it all the time..." He slowly looked up, and upon seeing the frown on the older man's face, he knew he needed to elaborate a little more. "Goth is... slang used for... people who dress in Gothic-style clothing, leather, chains, and... things like that... and some of them... wear collars around..." No, he'd not spent much time at all around other teenagers since arriving here in Germany, but he remembered some of the high school aged kids from back when he'd lived in Los Angeles as a child.**

**Manfred seemed to consider this, and to Miles' immense relief, he appeared to accept it. "Very well," he said, giving a nod, and Miles took this as a reward, considering he never got any definite ones for good behavior. Manfred obviously didn't have a problem with him lying to cover up what was going on between them in public. However, Miles didn't much care for the next order he received.**

"**Lie down." The older man was indicating the space beneath his desk. From the front, one could not see beneath the desk thanks to the way it was built, so the space where one would push their chair under was basically a cubbyhole and not an open space. Still, even if he couldn't be seen, Miles didn't like this, and there was a brief flash of disdain on his face, which he received another forceful slap for. "Don't look at me that way, boy!"**

"**I-I'm sorry, Master..." he murmured, slowly crawling beneath the desk with a deep feeling of humiliation. Miles lay down against the backboard and curled up a bit, like a faithful dog. The desk was big enough for him to not be in the way under here, but not quite big enough for him to stretch out at all. He hoped he wouldn't have to stay under here for long... He never did well in small, dark spaces...**

**Unfortunately, this was where he spent the rest of the day, or at least the rest of the time Manfred spent at the office. Once more, he was dozing when he heard the secretary's voice, waking him abruptly.**

"**Are you leaving for the day, **_**Mein Herr**_**?"**

"**Yes," he heard Manfred reply, and when he looked up, he noticed that the older man was indeed standing up, packing his possessions away from the sound of it. Miles, however, didn't move. For one, he'd received no order, and two, he had no desire to be seen climbing out from under the older man's desk. "I have an investigation to complete."**

"**Okay!" she chimed. "Good luck!"**

"**Hmph... I don't need luck," Manfred responded haughtily, having moved away from the desk and toward the door. "Miles, come."**

**Miles felt his heart skip a beat at hearing this order. Wasn't... that woman still in the room? He didn't move, but that meant he had the order barked at him instead.**

"**I told you to come, boy!"**

**Swallowing hard, Miles pushed himself up on his hands and knees and crawled out from under the desk, so stiff he had to grab onto the edge of it to pull himself into a standing position.**

"**Awww... Did something scare you, **_**Schatzi**_**?" Amelinda asked sympathetically. Miles was very aware of the warning look from his mentor, and he felt cornered. Either way he answered this, it would be a massive blow to his pride: Either he was hiding under the desk like some pathetic, frightened child, or... well... she would imply whatever she wanted if he said 'no'.**

"**...Yes..." he finally responded, bowing his head as he walked up to stand beside Manfred, refusing to look at them. He felt his stomach knot up when he heard a low, amused laugh from the older man, a laugh Miles dreaded to hear because it meant that he was being satisfied with the level of power and control he had.**

"**Awww..." the secretary cooed again, placing another little kiss on his cheek. "Well, don't worry. Everyone is afraid of **_**Herr von Karma**_**, so there won't be any reason to be scared while you're at the crime scene. Isn't that right, **_**Herr von Karma**_**?"**

"**...That will do, **_**Frau Isold**_**," Manfred replied, looking a little agitated. "**_**Auf Wiedersehen.**_**"**

"_**Auf Wiedersehen!**_**" she called after them with a wave as Miles was led by the arm out of Manfred's office and down the hall. He felt so embarrassed... but he supposed he would have to get used to it... Miles knew he was in the process of being broken, having his self-esteem diminished and obliterated, having his fighting spirit stomped out of him. He wasn't clueless... He just wished he knew how to stop it from happening, because he was trapped...**


	7. Chapter 6: Guidance

**Quicksand**

**Chapter 6: Guidance**

"Miles...?"

"Mm?" Miles was snapped out of his reverie by the soft voice of his lover. He looked up at her, lying on his back while she lay beside him on her side, her hand resting over his heart. She looked concerned as she had since he'd won his way back into the manor. She'd even insisted on cleaning and bandaging those deep scratches on his cheek, and she hadn't once mentioned their origin, or anything else that had gone on back at the office after she'd left. He supposed she didn't want to think about it anymore than he did, and he was grateful that she hadn't brought it up.

"...What were you thinking about?" Franziska asked, pressing a kiss to his uninjured cheek. "...You zoned out for a good half hour..."

"Ah... just... remembering, I suppose..." he murmured, averting his gaze for a moment. He wanted to sleep, but so far he just couldn't manage it; he had far too much to think about...

Franziska bit her lip lightly, reaching up to brush his bangs away from his eyes. "...You shouldn't dwell on such things..." she murmured, now taking to coursing her fingers through his dark gray locks.

"...I know..." he replied, closing his eyes to try and relax in this comforting treatment. "...It's just... difficult... With everything that's been happening... it's all I can think about..."

She was silent for a long time, and the next time she spoke, it became apparent that she couldn't stop thinking about any of it either. "...I guess I still just... don't understand..." she began, looking away. "...Papa was always one to scorn such things... I mean... he was always irate upon having to deal with two people of the same gender that were... involved..." She had no idea how to phrase this sensitive and awkward subject; there probably wasn't a correct way.

Miles understood this, not that he wanted to talk about it. However, he knew that he wasn't the only one dealing with hurt at the moment. "...He did a lot of things he scorned..." he muttered, trying to give her the best response he could while referring to the conditions of his torment. "...such as murder... But... it wasn't about... intimacy... It was... about control... about power... I was just an... an easy target... I suppose..."

She hated that he was the only one who could answer her questions, because she didn't want to bother him with them... upset him further. "...And what about Isold?" she asked, dropping the formal address after having learned that woman's true nature. "...Were she and my father...?"

"...No..." Miles replied, shaking his head slightly. "I mean... they had a lot in common, but they were traits that allowed them to work and scheme well together... Nothing more could have possibly worked out... because they both needed control and dominance, and neither would've been willing to give it up. She seemed fine with working as his subordinate, but... that was because she got basically whatever she wanted simply as a result of her affiliation with him..."

Franziska was listening intently to his words, wanting to know and understand all the things she had been oblivious to when she was a child... when it had all occurred. No, she couldn't ever imagine her father with someone like Isold, or really with anyone that much younger than himself... but then again, he had been fine with taking advantage of Miles... She supposed she needed to stop looking at that as an actual relationship, because she knew her father hadn't cared about him at all, and Miles' words had only given her a reason to put that in a totally different category.

"...Why were those videos made...?" She felt her questions were getting more and more uncomfortable for him, but she just had too many to let them go.

"...I don't know..." he replied, swallowing hard to try and keep his composure. "I suppose to... to keep me in check... u-under the threat of releasing them if... if I didn't cooperate... That's the only reason I can... think of... I never heard them talking about it prior to... that... first one..."

She still had questions, but she could see how upset he was getting and decided that now would be a good time to leave it alone. "...I'm sorry, Miles..." she whispered, moving her arm over his chest in a slight embrace and resting her head in the crook of his neck. She placed a kiss there, and then closed her eyes. "...I won't ask you anymore... Please, try and get some rest... We both need it... I love you, Miles."

Miles exhaled deeply, trying to relax and let go of all of the tension that refused to go away as of late. He slid an arm underneath her to pull her closer, to hold her and provide security for the both of them in preparation to sleep for the night. "...I love you too, Franziska..."

ooooooooooooooo

**It was dark... The middle of the night, and all were asleep... except for him.**

**Miles found himself standing just outside the door to the bedroom he and Franziska were sharing. The door was closed... He must've already walked out and shut it... He didn't remember doing so, but he hoped he hadn't awakened his lover...**

**Every light in the manor was off, but even in the dark, he knew his way. He began to walk, slowly, steadily, his footsteps creating some sort of strange echo as if he was walking along the hardwood floors of an empty concert hall. He reached the top of the stairs and began to descend, placing his hand on the railing as he went. It was dark; he didn't wish to lose his footing and fall.**

**When the banister ended, he knew he'd reached the ground floor, so he took a left turn, making his way through the darkness to the closed door of the library. It creaked as he opened it, causing him to flinch at the unnaturally-loud noise. Surely someone would wake! He never remembered it creaking that loudly! He made a mental note to tell someone to oil the hinges when morning came.**

**When he stepped over the threshold and onto the plush carpet, his footsteps died away. He left the library door open, for closing it just... felt a little unnerving somehow. He made his way through the dark and silent room, past many shelves lined with books, the only sound now his breathing... It was a bit labored, for the atmosphere was making him tense... anxious...**

**Finally, he reached the last door. He reached out and touched the handle. It was cold... and the door was locked. He knew where the key was; he was one of the select few who did... He went to get it, able to find the right books to move aside, the right compartment to open, and the key all without a single beam of light. With the key in his hand, he went back to the door and unlocked it.**

**He pushed the heavy door open slowly, but this one made no sound. Odd... this door was hardly ever opened; logic said it should be the noisier one. Putting this out of his mind, he stepped inside. He had no intention of closing this door either, but as soon as he let go of the handle, it swung shut of its own accord. He stood frozen for a moment, but shook off his fear. It was just heavy, and there was no reason to fear being here with the door closed...**

**He was dwelling too much! He had a mission, something to find, and he needed to stop hesitating! Still without a light, he walked forward a few paces, and then around the obstacle in his way, to the opposite side of it. He leaned down, grasped a handle, and pulled, sliding open the drawer the metal piece was attached to.**

**Here was where the lack of light affected him. He couldn't see what was in the drawer, if what he was looking for was present. He bent down a little closer, trying to strain and see if it was there...**

**A blinding flash of white light erupted from the darkness below him, causing him to recoil. A terrible lurch of surprise in his chest and then... darkness again...**

ooooooooooooooo

His eyes flew open with a gasp, and Miles stared up at the ceiling... or where it should've been. It was pitch black in the room, and there were little stars dancing before his vision, created by that startling flash of light from what he soon realized had been a dream. Panting, he lay there for a few moments, trying to calm down, to relax and recover.

….What had that been all about...? What an odd dream... and yet it had felt so real... What had he been looking for, and had he really been... where he thought he'd been...?

Curiosity got the best of him, and slowly – still breathing a little too quickly – he began to get up from the bed. This caused the woman lying beside him to stir.

"Mm... Miles...? Where are you going...?" she mumbled groggily, reaching out for him in the darkness.

"...I'm going to... get a drink of water..." he told her. "...don't worry... I'll be right back..."

She seemed to accept this, not making another sound and probably going right back to sleep. He stood up and left the room as quietly as possible, closing the door softly behind him.

So... here he was... where the dream had started. As he began to walk, he recalled that his footsteps had been much louder in the dream, as if he'd been wearing shoes instead of just socks. Now they could barely be heard. He wasn't nearly as confident as he'd been, trying to feel his way through the darkness. He nearly stepped off the top stair without realizing it, but grabbed the railing to regain his balance. He took one step at a time, his pace slow and deliberate until he reached the bottom and took that left turn, found the first door along the wall, and opened it.

The door didn't creak like it had in the dream, and he laughed to himself and shook his head. His mind had probably been trying to make this place seem spookier than it really was. He was now in the library, padding along the carpet with his hand on the wall, trying not to trip or bump into anything. For some reason, he hadn't even bothered to turn on a single light, as if the dream had mandated his actions, shown him the exact way to go about doing this.

...Yet, he still didn't know what he was looking for...

He reached the far wall and moved along it until he found the door, then felt for the handle. He found the cold metal object and gripped it, and while doing so, cursed himself. In the dream, it was locked! So, why had he gone straight to the door only to have to go get the-

...It opened...

Miles stood there for a moment, a little taken aback. Okay, so maybe one of the maids had just forgotten to lock the door after cleaning; he knew that this door was supposed to be locked all the time...

….for this room was no longer in use.

Perhaps it was the late hour, perhaps it was because he wasn't fully-awake or because of his blind curiosity, but only now did Miles realize where he stood. It was... freezing in here... like it had always been... only now – in the dead of night – that chill felt so... eerie.

He had a sudden urge to leave, but he didn't. Miles stood still, bracing himself with his hand on the door handle. He pushed it open a little wider, trying to get it far enough back to prevent it from closing. However, just like in his dream, as soon as he released it and stepped forward, it closed...

...slammed... as if someone had pulled it shut and trapped him.

His throat was closing up, and Miles now remembered how much he hated being closed in completely dark areas. He felt as if the walls of this horrid room were closing in on him, but he scolded himself for it. It was just an old study! No one was here, it wasn't getting smaller, and there was no reason to be frightened!

So, what was he doing here again...? The desk... He'd walked to the desk, and walked around it. This was what he did, moving forward until his fingertips brushed the polished mahogany. It made him shudder: how many times had he been pushed onto this desk, or been ordered to climb on himself, or been picked up and placed atop it? How many times had he felt the cold, unforgiving wood against his bare skin? How many bruises had it left on him? Too many; that was the only answer he could come up with, because he couldn't count them all, even if he wanted to.

He forced back the memories and steeled his resolve, moving around the desk to the side where the large office chair sat, and where all the drawers were located. Now... which one had he opened...? Why was he so curious...? He hated it in here, and yet... he was about to go through the dead man's possessions. Oh well... It wasn't like anyone had to know he was in here, and all he needed to do was open that drawer, discover that it was either empty or just full of miscellaneous papers and files, and then laugh at himself and go back upstairs to rejoin Franziska and sleep for the rest of the night.

So, with this thought in mind, he leaned down to where he remembered finding the drawer in his dream, grasped the handle, and pulled it open. Sure enough, he couldn't see what was inside, and he was extremely annoyed at himself for not thinking this out. He should have turned on the-

…..light...

Slowly, he looked up, his gray eyes wide as he stared at the halogen lights above, glowing brightly and casting light throughout the entire office. He could now see everything: the desk he stood behind, the couch, the bookshelf, the display cabinet, the various decorative valuables that hung on the walls...

….the closed study door...

"...Hello?" He hadn't heard a sound, and as his gaze darted a few more times around the room, he saw no one. No one had come in here... so who had flipped the light switch to illuminate this horrifyingly-familiar study? He felt the fine hairs on his body standing up, prickling with nervousness and anxiety.

His heart was now pounding, and slowly, he peered down into the drawer he was still gripping, hoping to finally discover its contents and then get the hell out of here.

What he saw sent a wave of nausea through him. In the drawer lay an assortment of familiar objects, things he'd never wanted to see again. A black riding crop, a couple of thick, stainless steel chains, a roll of latex tether... and a black leather dog collar...

...how was that possible...? He'd destroyed his... Had Manfred been keeping a spare for some reason?

Wait, why did that matter? Why was he even in here looking at these horrible objects? He was being overwhelmed by flashes of memories, old pain coming back to him as it had been so often lately. He needed to get out of here and never go back in, forget about that stupid dream and the strange occurrences.

But as he was about to close the drawer, something else within it caught his eye. He debated for a moment whether or not to investigate, then decided to just let his curiosity get the best of him one more time, and reached for it. What he found was a small slip of paper, and after pulling it from where it was stuck in the drawer, he recognized the neat, perfect handwriting with a hitch of breath.

"_**Did you honestly believe you could escape me, my pet?"**_

It was as if someone had shut off the oxygen. He felt suddenly light-headed, like all the air pressure had been sucked out of the room. He couldn't breathe, and he could feel a weight, upon his shoulders, pushing him forward, forcing his petrified body to move.

Had he been breathing, the wind would have been knocked right out of him as he hit the desk, the pain indicating that his ribs would certainly be bruised. But he didn't fall to the floor... No... He was pushed up, up until he rolled onto the wooden surface, now fighting for air and control of his muscles. Panic in its purest form, and he was alone, couldn't call for help, couldn't fight the blackness.

The carpet and the wood blurred together, swam before him, and faded. A faint ringing in his ears was the last thing he heard before unconsciousness swallowed him up and the tension finally left his body.

Miles lay still and silent, the lone occupant of a room that had stood empty for three long years.


	8. Chapter 7: Mind Over Matter

**Quicksand**

**Chapter 7: Mind Over Matter**

"Miles! Miles, wake up! Please, wake up..."

That voice... That fearful, worried voice... He knew it... He loved it... He wanted to do what it was pleading him to, but... it was difficult...

The male prosecutor began to stir, a small gasp for breath and a pained groan the first signs of life he displayed. His gasp was echoed, and Franziska stepped back just a little to give him room to breathe. "Miles..."

Slowly, he opened his eyes, staring down at the foggy image of carpeting a couple of feet below him. He was lying on something hard and uncomfortable...

….wait... No!

He looked up with another gasp, this one out of shock as he stared at the frightened expression of his lover and their surroundings. He was in the study... lying on the desk... and according to the natural sunlight flooding in through the open door from the library, he'd spent the night unconscious in here.

And Franziska was just as horrified, having spent all morning looking for him and finally coming in here to find him passed out face-down on the desk, one arm hanging limp over the side of it... a dog collar around his neck. "Miles... Wh-what were you doing in here...?" she asked. "A-are you all right...?"

He was shaking, staring at the wooden surface beneath him, the events of the previous night streaming back to him, making his stomach turn cartwheels, creating a powerful nausea. "I... I don't know..." he choked, beginning to tremble.

"Come on..." Franziska whispered in an urgent tone. "Get down from there... please..." She reached one arm across his back to grip his sides, hoping to help him down. He accepted her assistance, giving another groan as he realized how soar he was. He managed to slide off of the desk, but he stumbled and had to grip the edge of it to prevent himself from falling to the floor. Extremely worried, Franziska kept tugging at his arm, pulling him over to the couch and sitting him down on it.

He sat there panting heavily, gripping at the fabric of the old gray t-shirt he'd worn to bed along with his light gray sweatpants. He flinched slight when he felt Franziska's hands on his neck, only having realized at that moment what he was wearing around it.

"Why do you have this on?" she asked, her face pale and terror-stricken. She undid the buckle at the back of his neck and drew the collar away.

"I... I didn't put it on..." he protested meekly, trying to defend some semblance of dignity he might have had at the present time.

"Was someone in here with you?" she pressed as she threw the collar carelessly toward the wall. She was beginning to panic, now thinking he'd been attacked or something like that.

"N-no..." he replied, shaking his head. "I... I came d-down here b-because I had a strange... dream that I was... l-looking for something and... and the door slammed... a-and the lights came on... a-and the note and... and..."

"Stop... Miles, stop... Hush..." She'd realized suddenly that he was in a frantic state, and the last thing she needed to do was panic right along with him. She was working to calm herself down so that she could help him relax. She needed a coherent response from him, and that wasn't what she was getting. "Come on... Let's... go upstairs... You don't need to... be in here..."

"Franziska, I'm telling the truth! I-"

"Miles! Come with me..." She closed her hand on his, tugging gently to get him to stand up. He tried to swallow his fear and shakily stood up to go with her, to leave this dreadful room. Franziska flipped the switch to turn the lights off, locked the door, and closed it behind them as they left. She led him along, refusing to stop until they had ascended the stairs and reached their bedroom.

Miles felt an overwhelming sense of relief when he was finally able to lie down on the soft mattress, and he finally felt it was possible to calm down. Franziska stood over him, running her fingers through his hair, silently waiting and watching...

What had happened to him...? She was suddenly terrified for his mental health. She'd known this had all troubled him, that it was difficult for him to deal with, but this... this indicated that he was becoming disturbed on a much deeper level. Why had he gone down to her father's study in the dead of night... dawned that collar... and lain down on the desk...? It made her sick to her stomach to think about what this could mean.

…On a subconscious level... did Miles miss the abuse...?

"Franziska, I... I didn't put that collar on..."

She was snapped out of her thoughts and fears by his voice, a near whisper that pleaded for her to understand and believe him. "But you were wearing it, Miles... How else would it have made its way around your neck if no one knew where you were...? And... why were you there in the first place?"

"...It... was a dream..." he whispered, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to visualize the events of the previous night. "...I had a dream that... I went down there looking for something, but it was... dark and... and I woke up before I discovered what it was... It had all felt so real, so I... I had to go see for myself... I went down to that study and... and the door was unlocked... I didn't turn on the lights as I went in, but... they suddenly... came on by themselves when I was trying to find... w-whatever I'd been looking for in the dream..."

"That doesn't make sense..." Franziska murmured, shaking her head. "That's impossible... Are you sure there wasn't... someone in there messing with you...?"

"I looked..." he assured her, opening his eyes to stare up at his lover. "I'm certain... I was... alone... And I found a note... It was... i-in your father's handwriting, and... a-as soon as I read it... e-everything started spinning... I felt... s-something push me against the desk and... and then onto it... a-and then I... I f-fainted..."

The German woman stood there for a long time, just staring down at him with wide, worried eyes. She then sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "...Miles... You were... probably dreaming... sleep walking... That doesn't make any sense and you know it..."

"I swear I wasn't," he insisted, sitting up despite the dizziness it caused him. "Please... you have to believe me... I felt... a presence... but no one was there... I'm not crazy... I... I can't be..."

She looked at him with tears forming in her eyes, and she was trying to hold them back. "...I'm... I'm going to get you help..." she whispered, leaning over and kissing him, a gesture of love and reassurance. "...Stay here... Don't leave that spot... I'll be back soon... I promise you..." With that, she stood up and left the room at a rushed pace, closing the door behind her and leaving him alone.

Miles stared at his shaking hands, clasped atop the comforter over his lap. No... He... he couldn't be losing his mind over this... He was so sure of what had happened last night, yet couldn't explain any of it...

"...Leave me be... I'm not yours anymore..."

oooooooooooooooo

**Miles dabbed lightly at his swollen red eyes with another tissue, trying to stop the tears from flowing, trying to regulate his breathing and contain the sobs, but he just couldn't do it.**

**He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his red, long-sleeve collared shirt and beige pants wrinkled and out of order, as if he'd just thrown on something that had been lying crumpled up in a corner without taking any care to make it look presentable. His hair was damp and uncombed, the slight bit of steam coming from his adjoining bathroom indicating that he'd just finished up a shower. It was only about six-thirty in the morning, so his bedroom was dimly lit, but his bed was made, not having been used the previous night.**

**The seventeen-year-old had spent the night on the couch in his mentor's office, alone and closed up in the dark room after being too injured to get up and make his way upstairs when he was told to. He was still in a lot of pain, but when Manfred had entered his study that morning, he had demanded that Miles drag himself to his own room or suffer further harm. So, he'd managed it, and now here he sat, crying with hurt and depression over his situation, something he did quite often in the privacy of his bedroom.**

**But this morning was one of those that he wouldn't have to spend completely alone. There came a soft knock at his bedroom door, one he knew well, and all he had to do was wait before the door was slowly pushed open and the face of his ten-year-old sister peeked in at him.**

"_**Bruderlein?**_**" Her soft voice filtered through the early-morning silence, filled with curiosity and concern. He didn't ever mind that form of address she used with him, even though he was the elder one, because he really felt as if he was the weaker of the two, the one that deserved to be looked down upon.**

**He tried again uselessly to wipe his tears away, his voice sounding hoarse and hollow when he spoke to her. "...Yes... Franziska...?"**

**He heard a slight creak as she pushed the door open enough to step in, and then turned to close it softly behind her. The little girl approached him, placing a hand on his knee. "...Did you have nightmares again?" she asked, looking up at him with those innocent blue eyes. She had quite the fiery temper and could be quite cold for a child her age, but in quiet moments like this between the two of them, Franziska was kind and caring, when there was no danger of her father noticing and scolding her for such emotional displays.**

"**Yes... I did..." he replied, shaking his head. This was mostly a lie, for he hadn't slept a wink, but then again, last night - and many before it - could be considered a waking nightmare. "I'm... okay, though..."**

"**No you're not," Franziska stated pointedly, giving him a scornful look for lying to her. She then climbed up onto his bed and moved to sit in his lap, pushing a few strands of his damp bangs away from his eyes. "You look really rough, **_**Bruderlein**_**. Papa will be upset if you go anywhere looking like that."**

"**I know..." he muttered, averting his gaze from the child and staring down at his plain white bedspread. "That's why I'm just... going to skip breakfast this morning... I need time to... straighten myself out..."**

"**What foolish nonsense!" Franziska exclaimed, reminding Miles that she was trying to sound just like her father. "You can't skip breakfast, Miles Edgeworth! It's the most important meal of the day!"**

**Miles grimaced slightly at being scolded by the little girl, but then forced a small laugh. "...I'll be okay, Franziska... Missing one meal isn't going to kill me... I'm sure it'll bother me a lot less than if I show up to the breakfast table looking so disheveled. He'll... cane me for it." **_**And then some...**_

**Franziska bit her lip lightly, looking a little put off because she knew he was right. She seemed disheartened for a second or two, and then she perked up. "Well then, I'll bring you something to eat! I refuse to let my little brother go hungry! You're already too skinny, you know."**

**It was the truth, really. He was underweight and still losing, and he was also rather pale. He wasn't a healthy young man, the constant stress and abuse leaving him in a permanent state of illness. It irked him to find out that she'd noticed this, but he shrugged it off, hoping to put her worries to rest. "...Don't worry about me so much, Franziska. I just have... a fast metabolism, I guess. It doesn't mean there's anything wrong, and waiting until lunch to eat really won't hurt me..."**

**She sighed, pouting a little. "You're so foolishly stubborn, Miles Edgeworth."**

"**Look who's talking."**

**She glared at him, and then folded her arms, looking away. "Hmph! I'm not stubborn; I simply have the standard of perfection to live up to and can settle for nothing less."**

**He gave a wry grin and shook his head, finding that her presence had succeeded in drying his tears. She was his only friend and a real comfort, far too innocent to fathom what was happening to him or to judge him for it. Of course, he'd never tell her about it, even when she got old enough to understand. He'd never tell anyone, and she especially didn't need that weight, didn't need to know what sort of things her own father did to him.**

"_**Bruderlein...?"**_

"**Hm?"**

"**...You... would tell me if you weren't okay, right?" This question was so important to her; he could just tell by looking into her eyes. He instantly felt guilty, because he would have to lie to her. He wasn't all right at all, but she couldn't know that he would keep such secrets from her, or she would probably try and conduct her own little investigation. She was a sharp girl; if she decided to snoop around, he was afraid of what she'd find.**

"**...Of course I would..." he told her, faking a smile. "You're my best friend; why wouldn't I tell you?"**

"**Just making sure," she stated, leaning in to hug him, her arms barely able to reach around his larger frame. The small girl then got down from his lap, smoothing out her pristine white dress until it was perfect again. "I have to go join Papa for breakfast. I'll tell him you won't be eating this morning."**

**Miles just gave her a nod, but said nothing more. He watched her leave his room and shut the door behind her, and then lay down with a miserable groan. He was so exhausted and in pain, but he knew that he wouldn't really be allowed to rest. Maybe he could get away with a quick half-hour nap while the others were eating... but then he would have to be up and ready to get on with the day... whatever that involved...**

oooooooooooooooo

The sound of the bedroom door opening awoke Miles from a light sleep, and he looked up to see Franziska entering the room. She gave him a calming smile as she walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair.

"Miles... I went to look downstairs in the study," she told him, her voice soft and soothing, but her words having the opposite effect. "I didn't find a note anywhere written by my father... at least anything other than some of the old case notes that were still kept in there. I didn't find anything strange at all... and nothing out of the ordinary happened. Miles... you were dreaming..."

"No, I wasn't..." he insisted, unwilling to give up on trying to convince her. He couldn't have been dreaming; he even had a large bruise on his chest to prove it!

"...So... you're trying to tell me that this house is haunted and that you were attacked by a disembodied presence last night?" she asked him, quirking an eyebrow. Neither of them had ever believed in such things, and she found it ridiculous that he was suggesting this.

"Franziska, I'm not crazy..." he whispered, shaking his head. "It all... felt so familiar... and I swear I found a note... If it wasn't there then... s-someone moved it..."

"But you said no one was there!" She sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry..." she murmured, apologizing for shouting at him. "Miles... I think we need to find you someone to talk to... You're not in a healthy state of mind... and you've been keeping this all bottled up for so long that-"

"I'm not talking to anyone about this," he growled in defiance, turning over so that he now had his back to her. Forget that! He wasn't going to a shrink! It had been hard enough to tell her what little bit he had; to tell a complete stranger all of the details of his torment, to have someone digging into his psyche... No, he wouldn't do it.

"Miles!" She looked shocked at his sudden anger. "I'm just... trying to help you... There are no such things as ghosts... and what happened last night wasn't normal behavior... You need to get proper help this time around..."

"...Forget it..." He wasn't giving in. She could drag him to the psychiatrist if she wanted to, but she couldn't make him talk.

Franziska gave a frustrated sigh and stood up. "...Fine... I'm not in the mood to deal with this anyway!" She strode from the room and slammed the door behind her, just so stressed out with all that had been going on and now his unwillingness to even accept help. What was she supposed to do? She wasn't a miracle worker! They weren't making any progress and it now seemed as if he didn't even want to try.

Meanwhile, Miles gripped the bedsheets in his fist, gritting his teeth in just as much frustration. Why wouldn't she believe him! He knew it sounded absurd... but he knew what had happened... It couldn't have been a dream... could it...?

Silence prevailed for a length of time he didn't care to measure, but soon, the prosecutor became faintly aware of the sound of running water. Slowly, he raised his head and looked over at the adjoining bathroom, the door to which was closed. Perhaps it was just water traveling through the pipes to some other part of the house... No... No, it was a little too loud and consistent to be that...

Shakily, Miles stood up and crossed to the bathroom door, pulling it open to reveal the good-sized bathroom, complete with sparkling clean tile and marble counter tops. A shower stood in one corner, its fogged glass door partially open from its use the previous night when he'd arrived home after his situation at the office. Against the far wall was a large garden tub, surrounded by a marble ledge that matched the counters...

...and for some reason, the faucet to the bathtub was running. Confused, Miles approached the tub, staring down into the rising water. The drain was locked... What was this all about...?

Miles leaned down to turn off the water, but suddenly he felt a powerful push against his back. He gasped, losing his balance and falling forward. He fell over the edge of it and down into the freezing water. He gave a cry of pain and gripped his head, which had hit the faucet as he'd fallen, and now he was soaked, cold water spraying his face from the still-running tap.

Who had just pushed him...? Why had they pushed him? Panting and trying to get his bearings, Miles looked up to see who was there...

...no one...

The instant he realized this was the moment when he felt a heavy weight on the back of his head, pushing it down toward the water. Startled, he couldn't fight it and his head was forced under. He struggled, unable to breathe, panic overtaking him once again.

No! No, this couldn't be happening! Where was Franziska? He needed help!

He was pulled upward, gasping for air, coughing and spluttering. He continued to struggle, trying to push himself up and get out of the tub, but he couldn't. He was being held in place.

"Let me go!" he choked, shouting to the empty room. "N-no! Get away from-"

His head was pushed down again, cutting short his plea and his air supply. He fought desperately, but to no avail, and soon he began to feel that painful burning in his lungs and the weakening of his muscles. The sound of the running water above him began to fade out, and it was then he knew...

_...He's killing me... Oh God... I'm going to..._

A sharp, horrified scream cut through the thickening haze, and suddenly there were tangible hands on him, wrenching him upward so that his head came right up out of the water, hitting the faucet again and giving him a bit of whiplash. He gasped for air once again, choking, the fluid spraying from his mouth as his coughing fit expelled it from his lungs.

"Miles! _Oh Mein Gott!_" Franziska was in full panic mode, not even bothering to turn off the tap or considering the fact that he was drenched as she tried to pull him from the tub with all of her might. The adrenaline rush created by the sight of her lover drowning was enough to give her the strength she needed, and before Miles knew what was going on, he hit the tile floor of the bathroom. The room was spinning and it still hurt to breathe. His head was pounding, having just hit it for the third time.

Franziska fell to her knees beside him, sobbing uncontrollably and wrapping her arms around his shaking form. "_Oh nein_... Miles... W-why...? I love you... Why...?"

He wanted to tell her so badly that he hadn't done this... that he'd been pushed... held under the water... but not only was speaking an impossibility right now, she also wouldn't believe him. He knew what it had looked like... and somehow... he felt that this had been the intent all along...

A small gasp alerted them to the presence of a maid standing in the doorway to the bathroom, staring with wide eyes at the two of them. Franziska looked over at her, barely able to see the other woman through her tears. "C-call an ambulance!" she shouted, gripping Miles tightly to her as if she was afraid she'd lose him should she release him.

The maid quickly ran off, vanishing from their view to go call for help. Franziska returned her attention to her lover, burying her face against his back, bawling.

"I'm so sorry... I'm s-so sorry, Miles... I'll get you help... Y-you'll be okay... Please... d-don't leave me... I love you... _Ich liebe dich... _D-don't leave me this way..."


	9. Chapter 8: The Price of Freedom

**Quicksand**

**Chapter 8: The Price of Freedom**

"_Frau von Karma, Herr Edgeworth _is doing just fine. He won't need to stay the night."

While Franziska was glad to hear this, she had to ensure Miles' future safety; thus, she couldn't accept this. "..._Herr Doctor..._I don't think sending him home right away... will do him much good..." she said, looking mournful. "He... attempted to drown himself; it was a... a suicide attempt..."

The medic looked a bit surprised, not having been made aware of why exactly the young man had had so much fluid in his lungs. He'd just assumed it was an accident. "Are you sure of that, _Meine Frau?_" he questioned. "He had a couple of bruises on his head; might he have just fallen and been unconscious or dazed, thus nearly drowning?"

"_Nein... _I don't think so..." she whispered, hating to have to think this way about her lover. "He has been... a bit disturbed lately. He's been doing strange things... such as this... and claiming that... that some disembodied presence attacked him. I don't think he remembers any of it properly..."

"Disturbed?" The doctor turned to pick up Miles' chart from the counter beside him. "Do you have any idea what this might be caused by? Does he have any history of mental illness?"

"He has... panic attacks," she murmured. "But... I'm fairly certain it's related to some... past trauma that has been dug up recently. I was hoping that... we could get him someone to talk to, someone that could figure out what's... going on with him... maybe help him remember what he's been doing..."

The doctor looked thoughtful, and then made a few notes on the chart. "Very well... I'll see if the psychiatrist is in at the moment so that she can do an analysis. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, _Meine Frau._"

"Of course, _Mein Herr_. Thank you..."

ooooooooooooooooooooo

He'd been alone for a while, and if Miles was honest with himself, he preferred it that way... for now. He was sitting up in his hospital bed, having used the small remote now lying on the table beside him to raise the top part of the bed up so that he had something to lean against. The television across from him wasn't on, nor was he reading any of the informational pamphlets or magazines on the aforementioned table. He wasn't doing anything, really; he just sat there, staring at his hands, which were folded in his lap over the thin white blanket that hid half of him from view.

They thought he'd done it... No one had approached him yet, but he was sure that Franziska was telling the doctors he'd tried to drown himself. He felt miserable in every sense of the word, and now he had a voice in the back of his head telling him that this wasn't going to end until he really did end up dead... whether by his own hand or...

"_Schatzi... _You _poor _thing..."

Miles gasped and looked up with wide, horrified eyes as that sickly-sweet voice reached his ears. Sure enough, his gaze fell upon Amelinda Isold, her blond curls, and her less-than-modest red dress. In her hands she was holding a cheap vase containing half a dozen white roses, and Miles knew instantly with a feeling of nausea that they were meant for him.

"When I heard you'd been rushed to the hospital I hurried right over," she said, that insincere sympathy dripping from each syllable she spoke. She set the vase on the table beside him and then leaned over to give him an unwanted kiss.

Miles flinched away from her, fixing the woman with a glare. "Get out," he growled, his voice sounding hoarse after having inhaled so much water and then having to cough it all up and everything else the doctors could do to get it out of his lungs. He still had a chance of developing pneumonia, which was why he hadn't been sent home just yet. "And take those flowers with you."

Amelinda clicked her tongue and traced a finger over his jawline, pushing his bangs back a bit and then resting it there, the tip of her blood red nail lightly brushing his ear. "Don't be so hostile..." she cooed, still leaning over him slightly and giving him a full view down the front of her dress, a view from which he averted his gaze. "You weren't like this last time.. You seemed... so grateful for anyone's company."

He felt his heart drop like a brick into the pit of his stomach and visibly jolted as her words reached him. "This.. Th-this is nothing like last time," he stated defensively, trying to keep a stone resolve but failing miserably. "You haven't a clue about what's going on; and you have no such right to one."

She laughed, a low – almost seductive – chuckle and traced her nail back to his lips, forcing it between them slightly and making him turn his head away. "You seem so confident, _Schatzi_, but did you ever think that – just maybe – I know more about what's going on than you do?"

His breath hitched in his throat upon hearing this and his gaze was instantly back on her face. "...What are you saying?"

"Oh, _now _you want to talk to me!" She laughed, straightening up and flipping her hair behind her shoulder. "_Ich bin__ Leid, Schatzi, _but you're obviously in a really bad mood. Maybe I'll tell you when you can be a little nicer." She gave him a cheerful smile as she began to move toward the door. "I'll see you around!"

Miles gritted his teeth in frustration as she disappeared from the room. "...Bitch," he snarled to himself while listening to the sound of her heels fading down the hallway. He then sighed and slumped against the bed, closing his eyes and just trying to will it all away.

...Did she know what was going on... or was she just trying to mess with his head...? Either seemed likely, but pursuing the answer to such a question would probably get him hurt, even more so than he was already.

At that moment, he heard a new set of high-heels coming down the hall, but these weren't quite as loud or quick. Soon, a woman wearing a professional-looking gray dress with long, dark brown hair appeared and knocked on the door frame. "_Guten Tag, Herr Edgeworth,_" she greeted him with a kind smile as she walked into the room, clipboard in hand. "My name is Doctor Wiedeburg. Your doctor has asked me to come and speak with you."

"...You're the psychiatrist, I presume..." Miles muttered, not meeting the woman's gaze as he spoke to her and instead staring at his hands once more.

"I am a psychiatrist, yes," she replied calmly, stepping up to his bedside and taking a seat in the chair set there for visitors. "_Frau von Karma _told us that your accident was a suicide attempt. Is this true?"

"...No..." He was so angry with Franziska, even though he knew he shouldn't be. Why couldn't she just trust him on this, no matter how ridiculous it all sounded?

His lack of cooperation didn't seem to phase Wiedeburg; she was obviously used to this sort of thing. "_Mein Herr, _please tell me the truth. We can help you, but we cannot do anything unless you tell me the truth about why you're here."

"No, you can't help me," Miles stated irritably. "I didn't do this to myself and I don't need a doctor. I need an..."

She paused, waiting for him to finish. "...Yes?"

_An exorcist... _"Nothing... I don't need anything..." He looked to the side, away from her, and lowered his head.

Wiedeburg watched him for a few moments, and then sighed, looking down at the papers on her clipboard. "_Herr Edgeworth_, I hate to bring up what are probably bad memories for you, but... given your past record, I'm inclined to believe you're not being truthful with me."

"...Something that happened nearly ten years ago doesn't prove anything," the prosecutor responded, as if he was defending himself on trial. "I was pushed and held beneath the water by someone I couldn't see... "

The psychiatrist tapped her pen lightly against her lips, looking thoughtful. "You're saying you were attacked? And you couldn't see them...? Well... then who was in the house at the time?"

"It wasn't Franziska or any of the staff," Miles stated quickly, not wishing to pin this on any innocent people, especially his lover, who was just trying to help him even if she was causing more stress. "I couldn't see them because... because... my attacker was... incorporeal..."

A tense silence filled the room for what felt like forever to Miles, but the woman broke it by clearing her throat and looking down at her clipboard. "..._Mein Herr... _are you trying to tell me that a 'ghost' attempted to kill you?"

"Indeed," he replied, bitterness now beginning to seep into his tone. "But of course that's ridiculous and impossible, and I was just imagining it to protect my own mind from my self-destruction, or however those in your profession would phrase it. Perhaps I should just lie and tell everyone I attempted to drown myself... I'd be safer in the psychiatric ward anyway..."

Another prolonged silence, and then Dr. Wiedeburg sighed and stood up. "I... apologize for disturbing you, _Mein Herr,_" she stated. "...I'm afraid this isn't really my area of expertise..." No, she didn't believe him, but if he wouldn't confess to a suicide attempt and they could not prove it, there was nothing that the hospital could do. It was a legal issue.

He said nothing to her as she walked out of the room, and then just reached over to lower the bed back down with the remote so that he could curl up and try to sleep the rest of his time here away.

Franziska and Miles' doctor were standing a short ways down the hall, waiting for the psychiatrist to emerge. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "He refuses to admit to a suicide attempt, and despite his past record, we have no proof..."

This seemed to shock Franziska, and it wasn't the news that he was still claiming to have been attacked by a ghost. "His... past record?" she asked, looking at the older woman with wide eyes.

"...I can't elaborate," was the response. "He would have to give you that information himself; we're not allowed to release it."

Franziska bit her lip, fully aware of such legalities. "...Of course..."

"I'm very sorry," Wiedeburg repeated, giving Franziska a sincere look of sympathy. "I can see that he is troubled, but if he refuses to speak to me honestly, there is nothing I can do to help him..."

"...I know..." The prosecutor lowered her head momentarily with a sigh, and then raised it again. She cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her calm and professional appearance. "...Well... thank you for your efforts in any case, _Frau Doctor Wiedeburg_."

The other woman simply gave her a nod and then walked away, leaving Franziska and the medical doctor alone.

"...We would like to monitor him for a few more hours..." the man said. "However, if all looks well and we don't detect any remaining fluid or any signs of the mental trauma you mentioned, we'll be discharging him this evening."

Franziska just nodded, murmured another 'thank you', and then walked down the hall to enter Miles' room.

Instantly, she noticed the vase of flowers at his bedside and frowned. "...Miles, who left those...?"

The male prosecutor was silent for a bit, and it seemed as if he was asleep until he finally mumbled his response. "...Amelinda decided to pay me a visit... I'm too tired to get up and throw them out..."

Franziska walked resolutely to his bedside, picked up the vase of flowers, and deposited it in the trash can near the door. She then returned to him and sat down. "The doctor said that you will be discharged in a few hours if... everything looks normal..."

He didn't respond to her this time. On one hand, he hated being in the hospital, lying in this bed wearing only the paper-thin gown provided to all patients that were ill enough to need a bed for any length of time. However, on the other hand... he wouldn't feel safe at home... He was certain now that there was a lingering presence dwelling within it, a presence that was out to do him harm and to constantly remind him of old pain.

And he knew whom it was... Trying to drown him... How cruel... As if the punishment he'd received back then hadn't been enough...

"...Did you do this back then as well...?"

It had been quiet for so long that her voice startled him a little, and then her question registered, and he was certain that someone had mentioned his past account within earshot of her. Still... he knew that – once again – it wouldn't be right to hide this from her now that she had a hint.

"...I... tried to drown myself when I was eighteen... That's what they were talking about..."

Franziska sat there silently, letting the weight of this knowledge sink in. No... When she thought about it, it really wasn't a huge shock, thinking about what he'd had to endure back then on what was apparently a constant basis. So, she wouldn't ask him why he'd done it, because that answer was obvious. However, there was something she was wondering about. "...Why... is this the first time I've heard about that...? How could I not have been aware that you were in the hospital...?"

"...Because your father didn't tell you..." Miles replied, turning over onto his back to more easily speak with her. "You'll remember that... I was taking some classes at the university throughout the three years before I left... Do you recall the time I had some special testing to do and had decided to stay on campus for a few nights to avoid commuting back and forth constantly and to have a steady place to study...?"

"Yes... I do..." So that was it, then. That had been a cover-story, a lie that her father had told her to sate her curiosity. It had sounded a little odd back then, but now she realized just how naive she had once been, for she could poke a million holes in that story now without even trying. "But... what... exactly happened...?" she asked hesitantly, once again afraid to upset him but needing an answer. "...You... obviously weren't home; I would have noticed a commotion like that."

Miles shook his head. "No... I was out observing an investigation your father was working on... It was on the banks of the Kyll... and for a moment I... I thought... I could escape..."

Today had greatly upset Franziska, but the reason she wasn't still bawling her eyes out was because she firmly believed that he wasn't doing these things consciously, that he was disturbed enough to think that he was being attacked. Now, hearing that he had knowingly tried to take his own life back then... that she could have lost him and not have ever understood why he'd left her all alone... Well, it almost hurt as badly as the time he'd left that note, the time she'd thought – for the brief period before she'd discovered the obvious signs of his running away and not a suicide – he had taken his own life.

But she had to stop thinking about that prospect... He was alive, having somehow been saved from the freezing waters of the Kyll. The female prosecutor sat there wondering how many more eye-openers she'd receive through the course of this, how many more shocking stories she would hear, how many more of her lover's demons she would see rise to the surface to haunt the both of them.

It was here that their conversation seemed to dwindle down to nothing after a few minutes, and when Franziska really began to see his exhaustion showing through, she gave him a loving kiss and urged him to get some sleep. She was so worried about him, and she was afraid of what would happen when they returned home, if this frightening behavior would continue.

But all that Miles could think – and soon dream – about was that day... the day today had provided him with a sharp and cruel reminder of, the day those horrors had nearly destroyed him for good.

oooooooooooooooo

"**You are certain this is the scene of the crime?"**

"**Yes, **_**Herr von Karma. **_**There's enough evidence to suggest so, and we have no reason to believe it would have happened anywhere else."**

**The dark, amused laughter of the veteran prosecutor made the young officer flinch slightly. "Hmph... Pathetic. Even a child could see the obvious flaw in such a shallow-minded conclusion. In fact... Miles Edgeworth?"**

"**..."**

"**Miles!"**

**The eighteen-year-old gasped a little in surprise, quickly straightening himself up to stand at attention. "Y-yes, **_**Mein Herr...**_**?" Being snapped at always filled him with such terror, and today he didn't think his heart had stopped pounding. He had probably only slept a combined total of four or five hours in the past three days, and since his morning had started, he'd been making little mistakes all day due to lack of focus and alertness.**

"**Look at what you see before us and tell me if you believe this is the scene of the murder," Manfred ordered, looking coldly at his student, and underneath that... was a warning.**

**Miles swallowed hard to compose himself, doing all he could to stay focused and clear his head of the fog of exhaustion in order to answer this question correctly. His gaze traveled over the scene before him: the grass and mud stained black with blood, a dead body lying on the riverbank with a gunshot wound in his head, a lawn chair with a towel and drink cooler set upon it...**

"_**Nein, Mein Herr... **_**I don't believe this is the crime scene..."**

**Manfred nodded, a smirk now resting on his lips as he glanced back at the puzzled detective. "And why do you say that?" he quizzed, folding his arms across his chest and fixing Miles with that challenging look once again.**

**He was shaking... He always did when that gaze was directly on him... fixed so sternly... He always felt as if Manfred was staring right through him, and he knew that this man only ever saw him in one way: an object of his control and in his possession. **

"**Well, **_**Mein Herr, **_**if I were... going to commit such a crime on the banks of a river... naturally I would push the body into it to attempt to destroy evidence against myself... It seems completely unnatural to just... leave the body lying there right beside a means of quick and effortless disposal..."**

**Manfred turned to now look at the officer, who appeared to have been taken by storm. Such a simple and obvious flaw, and no one had considered it! "Such incompetence..." the prosecutor scoffed. "Obviously, this case is not as clean-cut as the force believes it to be. So... perhaps you should go back to chasing bank robbers and muggers; homicide doesn't seem to be within your grasp just yet." He then turned back to his student. "Come, Miles. I'll be taking a closer look while the detectives learn how to do their jobs."**

**Miles obeyed silently, following his mentor closer to the dead body. He had not yet become desensitized to such things... Standing here just feet from a bloody corpse... it was unnerving to say the least. Miles tried not to look at the gruesome sight, but before long, it became obvious that he was supposed to be watching.**

**He assumed that Manfred had been saying something, but he wasn't aware of it until the older man successfully captured his attention. This was done by sweeping his legs out from under him with the use of his cane, and Miles fell forward to land right near the dead body. He gasped in shock and fear, feeling his insides twist into knots at the horrifying sight and idea that he had yet again angered Manfred.**

"**Get up and get your head on straight, boy!" he heard the prosecutor snap from above him. He was certain no one was watching... Manfred was never rough with him when someone might notice his less-than-perfectly-calm temperament.**

**Miles began to slowly push himself onto his hands and knees to inch backward away from the murder victim, his body betraying him to let a small sound of sickness to escape him. The fear was obvious in his expression, and – never missing that particular emotion when it came to his little toy – this was the final straw for Manfred. He seized him by the hair and dragged him up to his feet before throwing him hard against a nearby tree, whose many long branches hung several yards above the river.**

"**He's DEAD, boy!" Manfred snarled, his hand at the young man's throat with his fingers curled beneath the unseen leather collar, gripping it and pinning Miles to the thick tree trunk. "It is a corpse, unable to do a thing to you and yet you back away whimpering like a pathetic mutt!" **

**Miles gave a strangled cry as his head was pulled forward slightly and then pushed hard back against the tree. Now, as Manfred continued to speak, his voice had dropped considerably in volume, but to the young adult, this made him sound ten times more frightening and dangerous.**

"**I warned you before we left this morning that you'd best get your act together, and yet it has been one careless mistake after another. You will pay for causing me such embarrassment... I don't suggest you make any definite plans for the next few days."**

**With that, Manfred released his grip and walked away, letting Miles collapse to the ground once more, shaking in terror. Manfred never made empty threats... and if he said a few days... Oh god...**

**Tears were forming behind his eyes as the young man looked around, trying to spot any of the police officers that had been present only moments before, but no one was around. They must have gone off to search for evidence of the body being moved... and that was how Manfred had just gotten away with that display of violence. Miles could feel a desperation within him, and the knowledge that there were police nearby had made him want to cry out for help... to tell someone that his mentor was going to hurt him... badly...**

**But everyone had left the scene... and he somehow felt abandoned. A small sob shook the poor teen and he uselessly tried to wipe away the moisture that was forcing its way out of the corners of his eyes. He was so tired... and so afraid... He couldn't help that sleep was almost impossible to get anymore... He couldn't help that he was always in pain... always anxious about when the next strike would come... the next degrading word or stinging insult... the next humiliating encounter he would have to submit to...**

**...When was the last time he'd felt happy...? When was the last time he'd felt human...? When would he ever feel alive again...?**

…**Never... **

**He was trapped for the rest of his life... and considering his poor health, constant stress, and overall mistreatment, he was sure that was only a few more years. However, even another day of this seemed too much to bear, and now faced with the prospect of what was going to happen to him when they arrived home...**

**He felt the splintered wood beneath his fingers, saw the rushing waters ten feet below him... and wondered when he'd climbed up here...**

**He honestly didn't remember, but somewhere during his panic, he'd stood up, headed toward the boardwalk, and taken a set of stairs up to the raised wooden walkway. He was now standing in from of the railing, peering down into the freezing waters of the Kyll... longingly...**

**There really hadn't been much thought to this. He could hear faintly the furious shout of his mentor demanding that he return to observe the investigation. Far from drawing him away, that terrifying voice drove him toward the river, and he hoisted himself up, putting one knee onto the poorly-secured railing, and then the other. He heard the order to get down, to stop being such a pathetic, spiteful child, and then he heard the footsteps. Manfred was coming up the stairs, ready to remove him from the railing by force and drag him back to where he was supposed to be.**

**But he wouldn't let that happen. The 'now or never' thought was the last that went through his mind before he moved into a crouched position and then launched himself off of the railing. He only saw the river for a moment longer before he plunged into a freezing blackness, and soon he couldn't even feel the cold.**

_**I'm free... I'm finally free...**_


	10. Chapter 9: What You Don't Know

**Quicksand**

**Chapter 9: What You Don't Know**

The process of leaving the hospital and heading home felt like a blur to the distraught prosecutor, for he was more in his head than anywhere else at the time.

"Miles... Love... Are you sure you're all right...?" As usual, Franziska looked concerned, and while he hated to constantly see that expression on her face, he knew it wasn't going to disappear for a while.

"...I'm fine," he replied, coming out of his reverie long enough to answer and nod. "Just... have a lot to think about..."

She nodded, kissing his cheek and brushing his bangs away from his eyes. "...Well... if you want to talk about any of it... you know I'll listen..."

He just gave her a glance as his response and then turned to stare out the window of their hired car, watching the scenery go by beneath the street lights against the darkening background.

The events after he'd jumped into the river were... just scattered flashes of memory that didn't run together, as if time had skipped several hours at a time. He remembered being carried up the banks of the river by his mentor as an ambulance waited for them at the top of the hill, remembered the bright lights and loud noises as he was wheeled into the emergency room, the barrage of questions that were fired at him by the doctors, none of which did he answer. He remembered the psychiatrist that couldn't get him to talk, the time he'd spent in isolation under suicide watch, the scorn of his mentor hidden beneath the false concern he portrayed for the medics...

...and then when he'd arrived home... Oh, he didn't want to think about that... and fortunately, they were now pulling up to the Von Karma Manor and he could distract himself with heading back inside along with his lover.

They made their way inside and Franziska insisted that Miles go straight up to bed. She accompanied him, of course, obviously worried about what he'd do upon being left alone. Miles didn't complain; nothing bad seemed to happen while someone was around him, and Franziska was certainly his preferred company.

As they lay together in the dark, Franziska kept a tight hold of him, both affectionate and protective. "...I'm afraid to leave you alone..." she whispered after a long bout of silence. "Miles, I... I'm afraid of what will happen... I'm afraid... I'll lose you..."

The male prosecutor didn't say anything, for he had no idea of what to say. He wanted to promise her that she wouldn't lose him, but – contrary to what she believed – he had no control over what was happening. So... how could he make that promise, and how could he make her understand why he couldn't make that promise? It was all so complicated and strange. This was one situation his logic didn't seem to be able to get him out of.

She stared at him expectantly, hoping he'd say something, anything... hoping he'd make the promise he refused to make. When nothing came, tears formed in her eyes and she tried desperately to hold them back. "Miles... Please... Say something..."

"Franziska, what do you want me to say?" he asked, unable to stand the choked sound of her voice that indicated the oncoming tears he could not see in the darkness. "I don't want to leave you... I really don't, but you don't believe me."

Now it was her turn to be silent; she obviously didn't know how to solve this issue either. No, she didn't believe his claims, and he wouldn't change his story for anything. She was beginning to wonder if buying into those ridiculous ghost tales would make things easier, but at the same time, her logic was telling her that nothing would get solved if they attempted to attack a false problem.

In addition... the idea that this house could be haunted – possibly – by the ghost of her father wasn't something she never wanted to consider.

"...Just so you know... I think Amelinda knows what's going on..."

A small gasp escaped Franziska's lips, followed by a surge of anger within her. "...And what would make you say that...?" she inquired, her voice wavering with the effort of holding in that rage.

Miles could tell she wasn't happy about him bringing this up, but he was desperate for any lead whatsoever. "She told me so when she visited me at the hospital," he replied. "She decided to be cryptic about it and tell me nothing, but I'm certain she didn't just... randomly release that tape without a reason or scheme behind it..."

Franziska gazed down at him for a long time, her eyes slightly wide at the insinuation he'd just made. "...Are you telling me we played right into her hands; that she _expected _us to come here, wanted us to...?"

"I'm convinced it wasn't all her idea..."

"Miles, stop that! My father is dead! Stop acting as if he's behind this!"

A heavy, tense silence suddenly set in, and it was clear that both of them were a little surprised at how Franziska had just snapped, completely lost her cool in an instant. The female prosecutor watched as Miles slowly turned to look away from her, turning onto his side and curling up slightly, and she started to feel a little guilty.

"...Good night, Franziska..."

A sob escaped her, and she lay down to bury her face in her pillow. "...good night..." she whispered, the tears overcoming her. This was all so impossible, and it kept driving a wedge between them. They were trying to fight this battle together, but that couldn't be done when they couldn't agree on the enemy they were supposed to be combating.

ooooooooooooo

She had refused to leave Miles at home by himself, but she refused to give Amelinda the chance to play anymore head games with him as well. So, she'd asked him to wait in the lobby while she made her way upstairs to confront the devious blond herself. Franziska's hand clutched her whip tightly, her blood boiling simply at the thought of that woman. No one dishonored her family and got away with it! Sure, quite a bit of shame had fallen upon the von Karma name in the past few years, but this time, she was sure she could stop it before it went any further, and perhaps exact revenge for her beloved.

She walked resolutely down the hall and stepped right up to the secretary's office door. Her knock was sharp, just like her gaze. No one ever dared to mess with her when she wore this expression. Rule Number One: Do not cross Franziska von Karma.

Though, there were some people who were either unaware of such a rule or – like the woman that answered her knock – just didn't heed it. "_Guten Tag, Frau von Karma!_" Amelinda greeted her cheerfully. "I, uh... didn't expect to see you back here... You're not still mad about that whole hallway thing... are you? I really didn't know..."

"Spare me the act, Isold," Franziska spat, glaring at the older woman. "That little display you created is actually at the bottom of my exhaustive list of reasons to be furious with you."

Amelinda's eyes widened a little in what appeared to be surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked, biting the tip of her nail nervously.

"You know perfectly well what I mean!" the prosecutor snapped. "Now, unless you'd like the rest of this office to know as well, I suggest you step aside!"

Still maintaining that confused and anxious look, Amelinda allowed the younger woman into the office, and Franziska pushed the door shut with a little unnecessary force. "I'll get straight to the point: Miles has told me everything. So, either hand over the recordings in your possession, or I will force you to hand them over with the help of the police!"

Franziska half-expected the other woman to continue her act of innocence, but to the contrary, she watched as Amelinda closed her eyes and gave an amused, dark little laugh. "Oooo, scary," she said, opening her eyes and tilting her head to look at the prosecutor, a smirk resting on her ruby-red lips. "I guess I see why Miles likes you so much; you're a spicy little firecracker, and you're trying so hard to be the spitting image of your father."

"Don't you DARE mock me!" Franziska snarled, instinctively cracking her whip as she spoke; it really had become an automatic action after so many years. "My father was a liar and a hypocrite, and it is my duty to restore the honor my family once had! You – of all people – will not stand in my way!"

Unshaken, Amelinda reached up to cover her mouth and stifle a dramatic yawn. "You talk too much," she remarked, leaning back against her desk calmly. "Is that how you win all your cases? I mean, you don't have a shred of proof to accuse me of anything, but I guess if you talked enough, a judge _might _be convinced you actually have something."

"For your information, I have Miles' testimony!" Franziska was baring her teeth by this point, and if looks could kill, she would have already won this little argument. "That is more than enough cause to accuse you and conduct a deeper investigation! You are not fooling me, Isold!"

Amelinda seemed to be enjoying the fact that she was getting under the other woman's skin. Franziska was furious, and the blond wasn't at all intimidated by it. "His testimony? Really…?" She chuckled and shook her head, giving a heavy sigh. "Oh, come on now. He's been coming out with some ridiculous stuff lately, hasn't he? How can anyone believe what he says; he's obviously unstable."

"Well, the tapes will help us decide that, now won't they?" Franziska retorted, refusing to back down. "So, hand them over, or I will solicit the aid of the police to forcibly take them from you!"

"Now, Meine _Frau, _don't you think that's a bit… rash?" Amelinda straightened up, walking around her desk to fiddle with some papers. "If the police get a hold of those tapes, rest assured that they will end up all over the news stations and the Internet. Would you really do that to the poor man? I mean, he's got enough on his plate already, what with everyone thinking he's mad and all."

Franziska gritted her teeth, glaring furiously. "How could you know anything about that?"

"Let's just say I'm much more perceptive than people give me credit for," Isold replied, smirking. "Come on, I'm sure there's another reason you're here. I'm sure _Herr Edgeworth _told you about our little conversation."

"I care nothing for the head games you've been playing with him!" Franziska had stepped up to the other woman's desk by this point, and she slammed her fists upon it as she spoke. "I know you're behind all of this, so I have no questions to ask you until you're behind bars for your involvement in the mistreatment and exploitation of Miles Edgeworth!"

Oh, that laugh… Franziska hated the sly, amused little laugh that escaped from the secretary's lips at that moment. "Me? Behind it all…? You are so naïve, _Meine Frau._"

"I beg your pardon?" Franziska snarled, gloved hands still clenched into tight fists.

"As much as I love to mess with little _Schatzi, _I will admit that he's not as insane as you might think." Slowly, Amelinda turned and bent down to open one of her desk drawers, producing a plastic container that held a tiny plastic card within it. "Here… I'll give you one of the little films to watch and enjoy."

In this moment, Franziska was both confused and livid, and she snatched the flash memory card from the secretary's hand. "Thank you for the evidence," she said, trying to hide her confusion and appear triumphant. However, Amelinda just laughed.

"You won't be able to incriminate me at all from that tape, not that you would put the film out there in the public anyway. Oh, and don't worry: I have another copy of that. It is my favorite one, after all."

"Sadistic whore," Franziska snapped. "Why are you giving this to me then?"

"Heheh… Just to show you how useless your attempts to stop this are…" Amelinda replied. "Just give it a watch, but make sure you stick with it until the very end, because that's the most important part, where you'll learn that what you believe to be reality is nothing more than a shallow, close-minded misperception."

At that moment, there came a knock on the door, and without an invite inside, Ewald Astor opened and stepped through it. "Ach, _Fraulein von Karma_, I wasn't aware you would be dropping by again. Am I interrupting anything?"

"Not at all, _Mein Herr_," Amelinda replied. "_Frau von Karma_ was just leaving."

Franziska glowered at the older woman. "You're not getting out of this so easily! I came here for a reason and I will not be tossed aside!"

"Now, _Fraulein_, there is no reason to shout…" Ewald nearly cooed. "If _Frau Isold _wishes for you to remove yourself from her office, it is polite to do so. _Auf Wiedersehen._"

Franziska didn't think she could've been any angrier without having an aneurism, and without another word, she stormed from the office and slammed the door shut behind her. She had enough mind to tuck the small plastic container into her dress as she went to go rejoin Miles, for she didn't want him questioning her about what it was. She really didn't want to watch another moment of his torment, and the thought of witnessing her father abuse him in such a way made her feel ill.

But was it true…? Did this recording contain something she really needed to see and understand? That thought too disturbed her greatly….

...What to do…? To watch it, or simply hide it away and attempt to get a hold of the original copy so that it could be destroyed and never used against her love again…? She could do both, of course, but… she really didn't want to.

And in the lobby, her lover day-dreamed. He had no idea what the conversation going on above would consist of, and he had a fear that Amelinda would be able to play her little mind games with Franziska as well. That woman got away with everything… She was sociopathic, never feeling fear or remorse, and the perfect liar.

oooooooooooooooo

**He had been lying in isolation for an entire day now, having been placed under constant surveillance by the hospital staff. Suicide Watch, they called it. Miles himself hadn't spoken a word, but considering that Manfred and another officer had witnessed him jumping into the Kyll, they had enough reason to put him here.**

**Miles didn't really care at this point. There was only one person he wished to see right now, and from what he understood, she wasn't going to be told that he was in the hospital. So, until he arrived home, he would not see her…**

…**Home… Hah! Since when did that word have such a loose definition?**

"_**Herr Edgeworth, **_**your father is here to see you."**

**Miles said nothing, and it made his stomach turn to hear someone refer to Manfred as his father. He'd stopped correcting people by now, though; he didn't have the energy to constantly explain that he was legally still an orphan, that Manfred was simply his mentor and had not officially adopted him, thus the reason his name was still Edgeworth.**

**The nurse waited a moment for some sort of acknowledgement from the depressed young adult, but when he said nothing, she simply disappeared from the room's entrance and allowed Manfred to step inside. The door was kept open, and Miles knew nothing could be done to him here thanks to the constant watch of the medical staff. Still, he was trembling. This man's presence always evoked fear; not even a Plexiglas wall between them could make Miles feel safe.**

"**Well," Manfred began, walking over to stand beside the bed, to loom over his ward and watch him intently. "I'm glad to see that you are finally awake, Miles. I was beginning to think you would just **_**happen **_**to be asleep every time I should come to speak with you."**

**Yes, he had been pretending to be asleep every time Manfred had appeared, but this time he'd been caught off guard, and he supposed he'd have to face him sooner or later.**

"**Now, perhaps you could explain to me what was going through your head when you acted a fool and threw yourself into the Kyll?"**

**Miles closed his eyes, sniffing a bit as he felt the dreaded burning in his throat and behind his eyes that told him he was about to start crying again, about to show that forbidden weakness. He couldn't lie to this man, and this time – for some reason – he had no urge to. He didn't feel safe, but he felt safer than usual, and somehow… he just let the fear and pain show without restraint.**

"**I was terrified…" He whispered, refusing to open his eyes. He didn't want to see whatever expressions crossed Manfred's face. "I'm…. tired of being hurt… D-Death…. sounded better than… g-going home…."**

**He expected to be slapped, or to be scolded, to be told what a weak and worthless child he was. He expected it to be the same as always, for he doubted Manfred would even dignify his actions and words with some sort of special or more severe scolding.**

**So, when he felt that large, familiar hand gently cup his chin, he was certain his heart stopped. Slowly, his head was coaxed back and slightly to the side so that when he received the order to look at his mentor, all he had to do was open his eyes and he was staring right up into an expression of… anger? …amusement?**

…**Thoughtfulness. Manfred appeared to be studying him, considering the situation and his young pet. Miles just stared up in fear and anticipation, waiting for the worst, but… now a little confused.**

"**I suppose my suspicions were correct after all," the German prosecutor finally said. "I have miscalculated… Misjudged you." He removed his hand from beneath Miles' chin and traced his index finger over the boy's jaw line, causing him to shiver, and certainly not out of pleasure. "You are even weaker than I thought."**

**Miles felt the slight displacement of air as Manfred stepped away from his side. He could hear the sound of the man's footsteps on the tile floor as he paced around a bit, but the teen had by this time closed his eyes again.**

"**You have not reacted in the way I expected you would. Even with the knowledge that punishment awaits after failure, you cannot bring yourself to avoid disappointing me. Instead of working harder to succeed and avoid punishment… you would rather die, run away, throw away every opportunity I have given you to be something great…"**

**Something great… How laughable! What was so great and reputable about being this man's sex slave? The expectations he had to live up to were impossible to reach, and purposefully so, Miles was certain. He often told himself that Manfred **_**wanted **_**to watch him fail just so he could exact punishment and make Miles feel as if it was entirely his fault and that he deserved it.**

**It was working, of course. Even knowing this Miles didn't feel any less responsible for everything, less deserving of the way he was treated. However, it was enough to put him into a denial about Manfred's 'good' intentions for him.**

"**Perhaps I have been going about this the wrong way."**

**Manfred's voice snapped Miles out of his reverie, and now he couldn't help but open his eyes and stare up at the older man. He still looked thoughtful, but Miles was sure he detected a smirk beneath it all.**

"**Perhaps my chosen method of guidance has left you with too much room to fail. Perhaps I have over-estimated your ability to fully understand what is expected of you and the proper means to achieve the goals I have set forth for you. Perhaps my strong emphasis on the consequences of failure has left you… confused and misguided."**

**Despite the horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, Miles suddenly felt hopeful. Did this mean what he wanted it to mean? Was Manfred considering easing up on his violence and abuse in favor of becoming more of a true mentor? That bubble within him began to swell, and in his state of mind, Miles couldn't bring himself to burst it, to tell himself that nothing good could possibly come from his attempt on his own life.**

**If that rising hope could be seen in his features, Manfred either didn't notice or pretended not to notice. The older man simply stood there and continued to watch him with an increasingly unreadable expression, and then without a word, turned to walk briskly from the room.**

**Miles felt his muscles relax a little. He was still quite bewildered and had no idea what to expect, but he only had a few moments to wonder before another visitor appeared. He could only have one at a time in this particular room, and the quick sound of high heels coming toward him signaled that his next visitor was eager to take her turn.**

"_**Schatzi!**_**" He was startled as Amelinda came jogging into the room, looking all frazzled and quite upset. She came right up to him and threw her arms around him, revealing to him in that instant that she was crying. "**_**Oh Mein Gott! **_**I was so worried about you! Thank goodness you were saved! Oh, **_**Schatzi, **_**don't ever do that again!"**

**Miles hadn't the slightest idea of what to do or say in this moment. He just lay there stunned with his vision obscured by blond curls and large, barely-concealed breasts. He almost thought she'd suffocate him before she finally pulled away, trying uselessly to wipe away the tears spilling from her bright blue eyes. "**_**Es tut mir Leid,**_**" she murmured, sniffling a little. "I didn't mean to startle you, but when **_**Herr von Karma **_**told me what you'd done, I just… lost it. You terrified me, **_**Schatzi.**_**"**

**Miles averted his gaze from her, still having not a clue what to say to this woman…. He hated her for being involved in his torment and for treating him the way she did, but here she was… crying over him as if he was a loved one… Did she… honestly believe he liked to be abused, that being collared, bound, and tortured was something he'd consented to and enjoyed? Did she actually care about him somehow…? That sounded so stupid, but… this didn't look fake… This didn't look as if she was just mocking him as things like this normally did with her.**

"**Why did you do that?" she asked earnestly, gripping one of his hands with both of hers, her eyes now begging for some kind of answer. He stared in disbelief at this display, but now felt obligated to answer.**

**He looked away once more before speaking. "…Do you really have to ask me that…?" he responded with his own question. "…C-can't you see I'm miserable…? I'm nothing but a worthless toy… Nobody cares about me, and I'd… rather die than… spend the rest of my life this way…"**

**When Miles looked up, it was to see a look of shock and horror on Amelinda's face. "Oh… **_**Schatzi….**_**" Pity, remorse, and sorrow now appeared and she leaned over to embrace him once more. "No, no, no…. That's not it at all… I had no idea you felt that way… I'm so sorry…."**

**Miles bit down on his bottom lip and lowered his head to stare at the white blanket that covered him. "How could you have possibly missed it?" he asked bitterly. "And how could I feel any differently? He tortures me… and… and you've filmed it…"**

"**Oh, you poor thing…." She drew back a little and began to gently comb her fingers through his hair, as if to sooth him. "Of course I care about you… According to **_**Herr von Karma**_**, the way you two are… is what you want."**

**He flinched, then looked up at her with wide eyes. "Wh-what? You honestly… believe that?"**

**She gave him a confused and concerned look. "Why wouldn't I?" she inquired. "It's not that strange, you know. I hope you're not ashamed of how you are; there are plenty of people who enjoy such things in a relationship."**

**Oh, he could've been sick right then and there, but he held it in. A sob – however – did escape him and he looked away, clutching tightly at his blanket. So… she thought he wanted this…. She thought it was all consensual and his constant pleas for mercy and a reprieve were all just part of the 'fantasy'. It made him so queasy, and indeed he was ashamed.**

"_**Schatzi, **_**I really do care about you…. I promise…." He felt the mattress shift a little as she sat down beside him on the edge of the bed, still stroking his hair. "I'm sorry you thought otherwise. I'll be sure to make an effort to let you know more often, and… I'll bring it up to **_**Herr von Karma **_**too. I know it's not easy to tell him things like that…."**

**Almost every part of his mind was urging him to stop her, to tell her not to say a word… accept for one part. It was that last remaining bit of the innocent child left within him, that part that still allowed him to hope for the impossible, to believe in the good in the vilest of people, the part that wanted to be held, to be comforted, to be loved…**

**So, he said nothing.**

"**Poor thing…" Amelinda cooed again, as if she just couldn't get over how horrible of a state he was in. She leaned down to place a little kiss on his forehead, and then reached into the large purse at her side. "Here… I thought you might be bored here all alone, so I brought you a book to read."**

**Miles half-expected her to hand him some sort of stupid children's/teen's book that he would have no interest in. However, what he received was an old, expensive-looking leather-bound law book. He looked at it with a bit of surprise, and then looked back up at Amelinda as she spoke.**

"**You can keep it until you're finished with it," she said, smiling brightly at him. "I'll need it back, though. If it's gone for too long, **_**Herr Astor **_**might notice it's missing."**

**Now, he had two choices here. He could either be cold and resentful toward her like usual, or… he could show some gratitude. After this entire encounter, the bitterness just… wasn't strong enough to win his favor. "…**_**Danke, Meine Frau…**_**"**

**She giggled, kissed his forehead again, and ruffled his hair a little. "**_**Bitteschoen,**_**" she replied cheerfully. "Now, rest up! Everyone hates seeing you like this, you know? **_**Auf Wiedersehen.**_**" She waved, and then exited the room, leaving him alone again… and rather baffled.**

…**Had his choice to end it all finally made them understand what they had done to him…? Had they really been – up until this point – so clueless…? Were things really going to improve for him, if not just a little…?**

…**..Or was it all just another game…?**


	11. Chapter 10: Ungrateful

**Quicksand**

**Chapter 10: Ungrateful**

"Are you ready to leave?"

Miles looked up, a bit startled by the sound of her voice pervading his daydreams. He quickly composed himself and nodded, slowly standing up and stretching his stiff muscles. "How… did it go?" he asked cautiously. She didn't appear to be in a good mood at all, and this certainly meant things had not gone her way.

Franziska didn't answer him for a short while, waiting until they were both in the car and Miles had started up the ignition to reply. "…I suppose I can see why that woman has given you so much trouble. She is nearly impossible to reason with, nor does she respond to threats of legal action."

Miles nodded solemnly. "…She's a lot like your father…" he murmured, his gaze fixed on the road stretching before them. "…She has no fear of the law, because she knows how to get exactly what she wants… and she's got everyone who matters eating out of the palm of her hand…"

A heavy silence followed his words, and it was clear in that moment that they were both lost for what to do. Franziska stared out of the passenger side window, her hand subconsciously resting over the hidden object in her dress. She wondered if she should tell him it was in her possession… She didn't feel right about keeping such a secret from him, but at the same time… if it did hold some answers, she would probably never find them considering he would most likely destroy it.

"….Did you get… anything out of her at all?" Miles finally asked, a small hint of desperation in his voice, a hope that this trip hadn't been entirely in vein and that they would have _something _to show for it.

Another bout of silence, and during this time, Franziska was making a decision. Finally, she spoke, and as she did so, she began to pull the small plastic case from its hiding place.

"…She gave me one of the recordings…" the female prosecutor finally admitted. "She said it's… only a copy, so destroying it won't really do us any good. However… she said it would prove to me that… I have a few misconceptions about this situation…"

She could see how hard he was suddenly gripping the steering wheel, and before he spoke a word, his knuckles had already begun to turn white with the pressure his fingers applied. He had a sudden urge to snatch the container away from her, throw it out on the road before them, and run it over about ten times to ensure its destruction… but it passed, leaving him with just a feeling of nausea.

"…What type of misconceptions did she mention…?" he asked, trying to figure out which tape she had been given by finding out what – in particular – might be special about it.

"I'm not entirely sure…" Franziska replied, before looking over at him. "But it… sort of sounded like she was referring to… the fact that I don't believe you about… what's been happening lately…." She paused, and then spoke again, having a difficult time getting these words out. "And… she also said it was her… 'favorite one'…."

Miles felt as if a few more bricks had been dropped into his stomach, and he almost pulled over for fear he'd be sick. The vehicle swerved toward the shoulder of the road, but he straightened it again with a determination to get home and out of public or away from anywhere he could get them both injured in his unstable frame of mind.

A small gasp was Franziska's reaction to the jerk of the wheel, and when they were driving straight again, her hand rested over one of his as if she was going to try and take control of the wheel. She took in a deep breath to steady her nerves, and then moved that hand up to his forearm where it rested. "…Miles…?"

"….If it's what I think it is…. then… it… c-could indeed give you some… evidence of…. the presence of the non-living… but…."

"Miles, you know I don't want to watch it," Franziska stated, her voice firm in order to make her point. "This whole thing sickens me. I hate to see you suffer, and that is a side of my father I never wanted to know existed. I… was going to keep this hidden from you, but that wouldn't be fair…" Her voice softened a little, but her tone was still firm, to assure him that she was completely serious. "It's your decision. If you want me to, I will destroy this card and never see what's on it… but if you think watching this will help me understand… I will… bear it and do my best to comprehend what it is I'm supposed to believe."

And now it was his turn to make a choice. Yes… there was footage saved on that card that would at least make her seriously consider that he wasn't just babbling a bunch of insane nonsense about haunting and poltergeists. However… there was a reason that recording was Amelinda's 'favorite'. That tape depicted what – to this day – he considered the absolute worst night of his life, the most pain and humiliation he had ever experienced, and it was certainly not something he wanted anyone to ever see… especially not the woman he loved.

"…Give me some time to… think about it…." He finally said, unable to make the decision at that moment. She nodded, and then leaned over to kiss him.

"Miles…. I'm so sorry about all of this…. I want to help you… and I don't want to see you in pain… not now…. and not in the past, either…."

This time, it was Miles who nodded in understanding, and from then until they arrived home, not another word was exchanged between them.

For the rest of that day, Miles thought about everything. He didn't really want to, but he couldn't seem to distract himself. And of course, his sleep was not a reprieve. He was sure it was no coincidence that the tape Franziska had been given seemed to match up with this whole timeline of his thoughts perfectly. It was as if all of these events had been predetermined… planned out precisely….

What his dreams showed him were the events after that day in the hospital. Manfred and Amelinda had come in – at separate times, of course – to visit him throughout his entire stay. It had all been so strange to him at the time… for they were being… kind to him. Well, Manfred was still rather callus, but kindness was just something he had always been incapable of displaying. He had just been… much more calm. Miles wasn't scolded, mocked, or hit once. Instead, his mentor would sit down in the chair beside his bed and engage in lessons, tutoring him like a real teacher, and Miles even received the occasional nod of approval for a question he answered particularly well. To that day, he still remembered how good it had felt to his eighteen-year-old self that he was pleasing his mentor, and in an academic way, not in a sexual way.

As for Amelinda, she had basically taken to mothering him. She would bring him meals to substitute the horrible hospital food, give him other books to read or the daily newspaper, and then sit and fawn over him, asking a billion questions about how he was feeling and rejoicing over ever little improvement in his health. Yes, she was still treating him like a child, but by the age of eighteen, Miles had lost his fight, and now he embraced the idea of being cared for instead of scorning her lack of respect. She had reeled him in during that week. When he was discharged, he left that building with a new hope for the future, feeling that everything would continue this way, and even if he was still going to be used by the man walking a step ahead of him, he could just deal with it if he just had some reminder of his humanity and worth to those around him.

How childishly naïve he had been….

When Miles woke the next morning, it was with the knowledge that even if he did ask Franziska to destroy that recording, it would not go away. The events he had been reliving in his head were all leading up to what that tape contained, and the images were growing more and more vivid in his mind. He'd never forgotten them… and he probably never would, but he'd at least been able to push them back along with everything else. Now, it was only a matter of time before he'd relive that night as well, and in the long-run, did it matter if she knew what had happened or not? He had faith by this point that she wasn't going to abandon him no matter what she saw or found out about, and – unless she still found a way to pass off the supernatural as some scientific anomaly – she'd understand that he wasn't crazy, that something - or someone – really was torturing him beyond Amelinda's releasing of the first tape that started this little adventure.

So, after they had both eaten lunch and were sitting silently in the library together, Miles finally gave her his verdict.

"…I think…. watching that recording might… get us closer to solving this…"

She hadn't expected him to speak, so it took Franziska a few moments to register what he'd said. When it clicked, she looked up at him from the book she was reading. "…Are you sure?"

Miles stared straight ahead for a long time, still in the process of convincing himself this was the best choice. "…We're both combating what we think is responsible for this… but until we can decide on an enemy… all we're doing is… battling one another… I can't say for certain that you'll believe after… you see what happened that night, but… it's… the only thing I can think of that… can possibly help you understand…"

The idea that watching this film would make her believe in ghosts sounded just as ridiculous to Franziska as the concept of ghosts itself, but she knew how difficult this was for Miles to handle, and if he was willing to let someone see his torment just for a chance at being believed… she'd face this with an open mind. She had to stop telling herself it was all foolish superstition, because if she watched the film with that attitude, she would be causing them both unnecessary pain and might as well not even watch it at all.

"…All right, Miles…" she said, closing her book and leaning over to kiss him. "…If you think it's worth it… I'll do all I can to understand what… I'm supposed to gain from this. I'll wait until you're asleep, okay?"

Miles nodded, now sure that they would both be witnessing the same scene tonight: Franziska from Amelinda's view through the camera, and Miles from his own point of view in his dreams.

ooooooooooooo

**He had been lured into a false sense of security.**_**Schatzi**_**? Aren't you happy to see me…?" On the recording, her voice was masked, but in Miles' memory, it was crystal clear. "There's no reason to look so scared. We're just… having a little fun, remember?"**

When Miles had arrived home, he'd been left to himself. Well, not really by himself; Franziska hadn't left him alone. The eleven-year-old had missed him dearly, not at all accustomed to having him gone for so long. She asked about a billion questions about the testing he'd apparently been doing, and Miles was thankful for his ability to lie on the spot, to make up excuses, to hide his torment.

She had also succeeded in making him feel guilty. The moment he had seen her bright, innocent eyes light up at the sight of him, he regretted wholly what he had tried to do. He would have left her alone and in grief, without a friend in the world. He did have someone that cared… It had been selfish of him not to think of her, but perhaps it was simply the fact that she couldn't help him that had made him feel completely alone.

In any case, he'd been given a night to relax and do whatever he pleased, for the most part. This had given him even more hope that his life was going to start improving. The next day, he sat in the library with his mentor and Franziska, answering a barrage of legal questions, fired quickly at each of them in turn with little time for deliberation. This wasn't new, and they had both learned how to think up the answers in the split second they were given before Manfred moved on and considered the question missed.

After the quiz, Franziska was given a new topic to go study, and Miles was ordered to accompany Manfred into his study. This created tension within the young man, but he simply murmured a "Yes, Sir," and did as he was told.

And as he walked into the large office-like room and heard the door shut behind him, he noticed that there was someone else already in the room… standing to the side… behind a camera… This was the first image of him that began the film, looking stunned and fearful. The young man stared at Amelinda – who would not be seen on the tape, of course – feeling hurt and betrayed, having actually believed she'd stop participating in his torment. He then looked up at Manfred, having actually believed that things like this would stop… or become less severe, less frequent. Now… he could sense in the air that this was going to be a horrible night.

"What's wrong,

"That will do." This time, Manfred could be both seen and heard, at least on this part of the tape. For some reason, it had not been as heavily edited as that which was released to the public. However, the main focus was still on Miles. "Come, Miles."

Shaking, Miles walked forward until he stood in the center of the open space between Manfred's desk and the closed study door. "On your knees," came his second order. The older man was speaking in a normal tone of voice, but even his usual manner of speaking was firm enough to demand unquestioning obedience. The eighteen-year-old did as he was instructed, descending slowly to his knees and staring at the floor.

"You have been away from home for a week," Manfred stated, slowly circling Miles as he spoke, like a vulture waiting for the last breath of life from a dying animal. On film, the focus was on Miles, but part of him could be seen as he passed in front of and behind the young man. "Why is that?"

What was this? What was he doing? Miles' only guess was that this was another mind game, or a show put on for the camera… "…I've been… in the hospital…." He replied, his voice barely audible as he spoke quietly toward the ground.

"And why were you hospitalized?" Manfred continued to question as he paced.

"B-because I… fell into a river…." His voice was choked with fear, and he visibly prepared to be struck, for he'd not caught himself until it was too late. However, he got a little bit of a surprise.

"Don't tell lies, Miles," Manfred scolded. He hadn't shouted… or snapped… or growled. He didn't even sound angry, really… It almost sounded as if he was just reminding a child to say 'thank you' after being served a plate of food at a restaurant. He should've felt relief, but instead… it unnerved him.

"I'm…. I'm sorry, Master…" he whispered, swallowing hard before he spoke again. "I was hospitalized because I… I… jumped… into a river…."

"Why did you jump?" was the next question. "Surely, no one in their right mind would do something so foolish and reckless. The waters of the Kyll are quite cold, and the current was particularly strong on the day you decided to dive in."

This hurt, and he hadn't even been touched. He didn't want to think about this anymore, but Manfred knew more than one way to make him squirm, and this was working. "I… w-wasn't… in my right mind, Master…" he replied. "I was… fearful… I wasn't thinking clearly. I just… wanted to… escape…"

"Escape?" God, he hated the way that word had been spoken. The questioning tone was backed by nothing but maliciousness. It had sounded so dark and terrifying that Miles shivered. "Escape what, Miles? You are not in prison. You are not a hostage. You live in one of the most magnificent estates in Europe, aside from the castles and palaces of royalty. You have never been denied a meal, shelter, a warm place to sleep, proper clothing, or the finest health care Germany has to offer. You have been given the best education money can buy, and so long as people know that you have been trained under me, you will never be denied an opportunity. You will have fame and fortune, and you will stand on the top rung of society's ladder for the rest of your life."

By this point, Miles had been reduced to tears, his face hidden in his hands and his body quivering and jerking with sobs.

"So… What, Miles Edgeworth, were you trying to escape?" He stopped walking, and simply stood about three feet in front of the young man, peering down at him, waiting for an answer.

He'd made it all sound so wonderful, and the worst part was that Miles could not deny that anything he'd said was true. However… it wasn't like that! Having all of that didn't make this okay! It didn't make this hurt any less! It didn't give him back his dignity, his humanity, his soul…

"Are you, perhaps, ungrateful?"

A sob caught in the young man's throat and he stiffened up. He couldn't answer that question. Yes, this man had given him a lot… but what he wanted in return wasn't worth any of it.

"Are you ungrateful for all I have given you? I took you in as a child when you had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, and I have spared no expense to ensure that you have the best… as if you were my own." Manfred had stepped forward to now stand right in front of him, reaching down to place his hand beneath Miles' chin and force his head back so that he was looking up, meeting the older man's gaze and allowing him to see the tears that had formed.

"…And yet you act as if you have nothing to live for. You act as if you are one of the misfortunate ones that serve no purpose but to add to the mass grave of self-destructed wretches."

Each word was like a needle, firing from the piercing gaze of his mentor into his own brain, penetrating his mind and sinking in deep. He wanted to close his eyes, to look away, to curl up on the floor and wait for it to go away…

There were a few more moments of silence, as if Manfred was waiting for Miles to say something. When this didn't happen, he removed his hand and stepped away. "Remove your shirt," he ordered, going to retrieve something from another part of the room. With another sob, Miles reached up with shaky hands to begin unbuttoning his red, collared shirt. He undid all three buttons and then slowly lifted the garment up over his head, folded it neatly, and then handed it off to Manfred, who had approached him once more. His bare chest was now exposed, the lack of the natural hair a man normally sported revealing the scars on his chest, stomach, and arms, more vividly than if he wasn't obligated to keep himself as perfectly groomed as a woman.

"Lie down," was his next order, and though it could not yet be seen on film, Miles had gotten a good look at what his master held. His breathing had quickened with anticipation as he moved to comply with the order, first placing his hands on the carpet and then lowering himself down onto his stomach. He buried his face in his folded arms and then waited, shaking.

It didn't take long for the first lash of the whip to cut the thick atmosphere and for Miles' muffled gasp of pain to follow it. Just like in the film that had been released, his back was still covered with scars, but now there were more of them, some of the old ones much more faded, but plenty of fresher ones to compensate. Now, new welts were being created as the harsh leather crop came down upon him over and over again. His gasps became short cries, but he didn't dare lift his head to let them carry. He took this punishment like a pro, the now plainly visible leather collar around his neck a constant reminder that this wasn't just some old-fashioned discipline with no sexual connotation.

By the time Manfred relented, a few of the angry red marks on Miles' back were leaking blood. He was sobbing harder now, already in immense pain and sure this was only the beginning. "On your knees," Manfred ordered again, standing before the young man as he struggled against the pain to push himself up from the floor and back onto his knees. He tried to wipe the moisture from his eyes, but more tears just replaced those he dried.

"Now perhaps that will teach you to show a little gratitude. Am I correct?"

Miles knew what he was waiting for, and he didn't want to say it. However, what he wanted and what he was forced to do were certainly not one and the same. "…Thank you, Master…"

"Very good, Miles." With that, the circling began again, and Miles braced himself for more emotional torment. The whole reason for what he'd done was now being belittled, making him feel like a child that was simply over-exaggerating the magnitude and severity of a punishment.

"I was told that you feel you are not cared for. You feel like you are merely a toy or a slave, kept around only for the amusement of others, others that do not see you as being human or worthy of humane treatment. Miles, do you know what it would truly be like to be considered a slave? You haven't the slightest inkling. You have freedom; you are permitted to go where you please and make your own decisions about what to do with the free time you are allotted, the time that is not devoted solely to your education. All that I demand from you is obedience and that you give your best effort in attaining a level of perfection in your mental capabilities. You have never been asked to do a single ounce of manual labor, and the only upkeep you are expected to do is that of your own bedroom, much less than any normal child would be expected to contribute."

It was as if Manfred wasn't even considering what was currently happening – or what would surely be happening – between them at this very moment. No, he was not a slave to the household, but in this study, to this man, Miles was expected to surrender himself completely, follow every order, take whatever was dished out without a single complaint, and all while referring to this man as his master. This might be a different kind of slavery, but it was slavery nonetheless. It matters not the method or amount of torture one uses to commit a murder; in the end, their victim is still dead and they have become a murderer.

"Furthermore," Manfred continued. "Those that are enslaved are given the lowest grade of food, shelter, and care possible to sustain life. You have never known that type of suffering; you have always had what you've needed and much more, even more so now than when you lived with your father."

This is what Miles hated most of all. Manfred did not mention his father too often, but often enough to ensure that the young man never forgot all the pain those memories brought. Miles had once confessed in a moment of pure distress that he felt entirely responsible for the death of his father, and now he was sure that Manfred was using that to his advantage, just another soft spot to prod at, another nerve to press.

"Tell me, Miles… What was it like living with your father?"

No… This couldn't be happening… Why did he have to dwell on this subject?

"Did you have household chores? Did you have to clean your room, perhaps… help set the dinner table, dust the tables in your living room on occasion? Were there certain behaviors and standards you were expected to live up to, certain mannerisms you would be scolded or punished had you failed to observe them? Or… Did Gregory simply let you do as you pleased, just providing you with a home and anything you desired while never requiring you to lift a finger or behave in a civilized manner?"

"O-of course I was expected to… to behave and… and help around the house…" His voice had gotten a bit louder as he said this, the current conversation bringing him to a level of distress bordering on panic.

"Then if that is the case…how is it any different here?" Once more, Manfred stopped walking in order to stand in front of Miles and watch him, wait for him to answer this question for which there was no satisfactory response. "How is it that you adore him as a wonderful, caring man, while you view me as a slave driver?"

Miles knelt there before him, sobbing and shaking while he stared at the carpet. His knees were getting soar by this point, but that was the least of his worries. "…because he never hurt me…" Miles whispered, his voice quivering and weak. "….My father…. never…. did this to me…."

Laughter. It was quiet and only brief, but it did all the damage it needed to. Miles' head was forced back once more, this time with a grip on his hair, and he stared up at a malevolent smirk. "Well… I am not your father, Miles, nor have I ever tried to resemble such a figure. However, I have raised you regardless of that fact. My methods and expectations are indeed quite different and more intense, but the fact remains that I have not a single obligation to you. Yet… you would rather die."

Miles was forced to stare up into the face of his tormentor for a few more moments, which felt like eons. During this time, it was all allowed to sink in, and Miles was certain that this was Manfred's intent. Everything was buzzing around in his head, guilt he really shouldn't have been feeling, a more powerful sense of self-loathing, and the horribly familiar feeling that he deserved all of this. For a while now, there had been some small part of him that had come to want this, that looked at it as atonement for the crime of patricide he had unknowingly and unintentionally committed at the age of nine. Now, that part of him seemed to be expanding, becoming more powerful and prominent.

Maybe the relief of death was more than he deserved… Maybe he had unwittingly doomed himself to live a life of servitude to pay for what he'd done, and to dream about it every single night until it all slowly drove him completely insane and he rotted away in a padded room with barred windows, or drugged in a permanent state of semi-consciousness until he just… never woke up one morning. Perhaps it was his curse to live this way, to suffer this, and the day which brought him death – not by his own hand – would only come when he had fully paid his dues. Death would be his final reward, and a reward could not be stolen in advance, cheaply and unearned. That was why he had not drowned…. He still had a debt to pay. He still had to give himself up over and over again, until he'd earned his rest fairly.

But how much longer would it take…? As he received his next order, Miles prayed to a God he didn't believe in that he could soon be at peace.


	12. Chapter 11: Evanescent

**Quicksand**

(Some more explicit stuff, but it's like... most of the chapter, so I don't know what to tell you if you're skipping that. Heh... Anyway, enjoy!)

**Chapter 11: Evanescent**

"**Get changed."**

It felt wrong to be relieved upon receiving that order, but that was what Miles felt. At least this was familiar; at least he knew how this game worked. The conversations… the mind games… he could never prepare for or predict. There was some kind of sick comfort in this familiarity.

Miles moved to sit on the floor, taking the weight off of his bruised knees for just a few moments. He undid the clasp of his belt and began the process of removing his remaining clothing, folding each article neatly and arranging them into a small pile. He handed these off to Manfred and received in turn the attire he was to wear during these sessions. Slowly, mechanically, he pulled on the tall, leather stockings and the long leather armbands, keeping his gaze on the carpet. Of course he still had the collar on; he never removed that.

With this change of attire completed, Miles returned to a kneeling position and waited. He had almost forgotten the presence of the camera, but now that he was exposed, he became more aware of it. He refused to look in that direction, trying not to think about the fact that this was all being recorded and would be preserved, possibly forever.

Nothing was said as the older man stood before the younger, simply undoing the clasp of his belt and unzipping his suit pants enough to free himself. By this point, Miles needed no command or persuasion to do what he was expected to do. The eighteen-year-old simply leaned forward and obediently took the older man into his mouth. He still hated this, but it had almost become automatic after the past two years. He knew how to satisfy his master and avoid making this worse for himself; the nausea didn't really even get to him anymore. He'd become almost numb, to this part at least.

Manfred was silent throughout the process; he was always silent. It was all but impossible to tell whether or not he enjoyed this at all. The only way Miles could tell was by the amount of violence against him. If there was little pain, he knew he was doing what was expected of him.

Unlike the first film, Miles put up no resistance. Thus, he was not forced into any painful and restraining positions, although the older man was still not exactly gentle about this. By the time Manfred withdrew and covered himself once more, Miles was still left gasping slightly for air, choking a couple of times on lingering sobs. He was hoping this would be routine and that the next part wouldn't be so bad. Somehow… he knew it was false hope…

"Get on the couch." Manfred had walked back over to his desk, his back to Miles as he spoke. The teen didn't question this – of course – and moved to the couch to climb upon it. "Lie down," was the order he received upon doing so, and he obeyed this as well. It was a very soft and comfortable piece of furniture, but Miles hated it, especially when he felt that material against his bare skin. He lay there, still and silent, and watched as Manfred used a set of keys he had retrieved to unlock one of the display cases lining the walls of his study. This particular one contained an assortment of old hunting rifles and a few other varieties of firearm. As far as the teen knew, they were all just decoration and hadn't been used – if ever – in a very long time.

When Manfred finally turned around, he was holding a handgun, the smallest weapon contained within the display case. "Now, boy, can you tell me what this is?" he asked, walking slowly toward the young man.

"…A gun… Master…" Miles replied, his anxiety building. Why did he have a gun? Why was he advancing on him with it? Was… this some kind of threat…?

"Astutely observed," Manfred stated, holding the weapon so that it pointed harmlessly toward the floor while his other hand moved over the top of it. "It is not quite as old as many of the other weapons I have in my possession, but by today's standards, it is obsolete. It was – however – considered standard-issue among law enforcement in many parts of the United States about nine years ago…"

Miles felt his chest tighten up, and he couldn't help but look away.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, boy," Manfred scolded, sounding just a little more harsh than he had earlier. Miles reluctantly complied, and when he did so, Manfred continued. "I assume you've guessed already? This is the exact model that took your father's life, Miles. Does it look familiar to you?"

Miles just stared up at the older man and the gun he was holding, feeling the beginnings of more tears. He couldn't answer, for this sight was frightening him, and yet another mention of his past was more than just bothering him.

"No?" Manfred asked, taking another few steps closer. "Well… I suppose it was quite dark… Perhaps it would… feel familiar." He now stood over the young man and lowered the weapon toward him. "Take it," he ordered, and he watched as Miles struggled with himself.

Shaky hands closed around the gun and took it from its owner's hand. Miles hated the feel of this thing; he hated guns in general, and he certainly didn't want to be holding one… especially one that exactly resembled the gun that had taken his father from him. No, this gun didn't actually feel familiar, for he'd not really stopped to examine that back in the elevator. He'd just… picked it up and thrown it… It had only been in his small hand for a brief moment. Still, just the knowledge that he'd once held and accidentally killed with a gun just like this was enough to drag up a vivid memory, to make him tremble and want so badly for this weapon to leave his grasp.

"The gun is loaded, Miles," he heard Manfred say above him, bringing him out of the fog in his own head. "What will you do with it?"

Miles grimaced, closing his eyes and turning his face away. "…Nothing, Master…"he whispered.

"And why is that?" the prosecutor pressed, obviously enjoying the torment he was creating with such simple yet well-placed actions and words.

"I… dislike guns… Master…" the young man whispered in return.

A low, amused laugh escaped Manfred's lips and he slowly moved away from the couch, back toward his desk. He stopped when he reached it, leaned upon it, and gazed back over at his ward. "That is your only reason, is it?" he inquired, folding his arms over his chest and watching Miles with a keen stare. "Was your dislike of guns not so prominent, what would you do with it? Would you shoot me, Miles? You seem to have so much resentment pent up inside… so much anger that you long – but have too much fear – to release."

"No, Master…"

"What about her?" the older man asked next, looking over toward the woman standing silently behind her video equipment. "I can see that you find being filmed quite humiliating, and she could be an easy substitute for the true object of your hatred. Or perhaps you could simply destroy the camera; that would erase the record of this evening without committing anything more than a civil offense."

Miles' grip on the gun was tightening, but only because these words were creating a boiling tension within him as if… as if he was… being tempted. "…No, Master…."

"Hm…." Manfred made a show of looking thoughtful, but the smirk couldn't be entirely hidden. "Then… would you turn it on yourself?"

Miles flinched.

"It would be a much more full-proof way to ensure your 'escape', would it not?" the German man continued, watching with satisfaction as the proverbial needle sank in. "Your pain, your humiliation, and your overwhelming guilt would all come to an abrupt end. If you act quickly enough, neither of us could reach you in time to stop you."

Miles couldn't speak, couldn't respond. His heart was suddenly pounding in his ears as he stared at the gun. Manfred was right… It would… be so easy… quick and probably painless… He could escape, despite his earlier thoughts about atonement and the need to continue suffering.

But why…? Why was Manfred apparently trying to convince him to use this gun...? He knew this man fed on his fear, but his words were true: Miles could simply point the gun at himself and pull the trigger, and while he would be free, it would open up a massive can of worms for the other two in the room. It would be on tape, in Manfred's study, with a gun that only Manfred held the key to unlock, not to mention the current state of the teen himself.

Miles jumped in surprise when he felt a larger hand close around one of his that held the gun. He'd been so distracted by his mental panic that he hadn't even realized he'd been approached. Manfred guided the teen's hand upward, and Miles gasped when he felt the metal bump up against his lips.

"Open your mouth," the prosecutor ordered, and out of habit, Miles complied. The gun was pushed forward, the muzzle sliding between the young man's lips.

All he could taste now were polished metal and gunpowder. Miles stared up at his tormentor with nothing but pure horror in his wide gray eyes. Manfred released his grip on the gun, leaving Miles to just hold it there, leaving him in this suicidal position.

…Was he about to die…? The day he'd jumped into the river, Miles hadn't really been thinking clearly. He'd not really thought about death itself save for its power to take him away from harm. Now, things were moving much more slowly, giving him time to dwell on every event, every thought, every possibility, and now he was terrified. Was he going to be forced to pull the trigger? Was he going to be forced to end his own life…? He'd never once thought that Manfred would kill him; the prosecutor wouldn't dirty his hands with something like that, surely.

But this way… he wouldn't have to… It would be a suicide, and if they just… destroyed the tape, there would be few reasons to believe otherwise. But then… why tape it in the first place…?

"...It is both amusing… and pitiful." Manfred was simply standing over him, taking in the fear, something that satisfied him just as much as – if not more than – physically taking advantage of the young man before him. "Manipulating you is… almost too easy, Miles Edgeworth. I could tell you to pull the trigger right now…. And I doubt you could disobey me."

Was that true…? Could he bring himself to disobey….? Could he bring himself to pull the trigger…? Was… he really going to have to choose between such a horrible option… and a worse one…?

"Of course… I'm responsible for it, aren't I?" Manfred continued. "You have indeed become perfectly obedient, just the way I have desired it. Yet somehow… I am not entirely pleased. Sometimes… I miss the fight I was so determined to be rid of within you."

A heavy silence lingered, and then Miles felt a light tug on the gun.

"No mater…" Manfred said as he drew the weapon away from his toy. "I suppose I'll get over it. After all… I cannot be angry with you for learning your lessons, now can I?"

Relief. An overwhelming, almost crippling relief spread through Miles entire being. A particularly violent sob shook him and he buried his face in his arms, weeping beneath the lingering weight of what had just happened, what he feared could've happened. As sure as he'd been about wanting to die just over a week ago, that had been one of the most terrifying experiences he'd ever had. Now, the gun was being put back in its place and locked away, where it could neither harm, tempt, nor frighten him.

He was still trying to recover from such an immense scare when he felt Manfred pick him up from the couch, causing him to gasp slightly in surprise. Before he could really react beyond this or register what was happening, he'd been placed upon the cold, hard surface of the desk. He knew now what was coming next, for it was only here that he was taken. Never anywhere else, not even on the couch. It was always this desk. Other things were done to him elsewhere, but not this.

No words were spoken, but with a certain guiding push, Miles knew that he was to lie down on his back this time, which he did. He was hoping he'd be taken face-down so that he might at least be able to hide his tears and shame, but it seemed that Manfred had thought of this as well. Miles' arms were pulled up over his head and his wrists were bound with a length of latex tether, and though he was able to move his arms still, this was just a reminder that he was to stay still.

There were only a few more moments of preparation before Manfred was looming over Miles once more. The young man's legs were lifted apart, and then he was breeched. Miles' reaction was a sharp hiss, teeth gritted against the sensation and eyes closed.

This had happened so many times that the beginning no longer really hurt. In fact, while the movements were slow, his body betrayed him. Whether or not it was better for him emotionally to feel this instead of the pain was still a question to him, but in the heat of the moment, his thoughts had no baring. Small, quiet moans would rise in his throat despite his efforts to hold them back, and he knew that Manfred enjoyed seeing such a struggle. Yes, he preferred to see the pain he could cause, but watching Miles unwillingly enjoy this for at least a few moments was just… priceless.

As always, Miles tried to ignore the feeling of another man moving in and out of him, but – just as usual – it didn't work. He couldn't ignore it; it overwhelmed him, and as those movements became faster and more power was put behind them, the pain set in. He hated the pain as well, but at least he was no longer moaning in pleasure beneath this humiliation. When faced with the choice, he had to say that he preferred the pain here.

Those quiet moans were now small hisses, gasps, and soft cries of pain as what Miles had come to know as gentleness left this act. The thrusts of the older man's hips were sharp and calculated, steadily growing more violent, as he intended to finally obtain a release after all the time he'd spent feeding his sadism.

Not until the very end, when he was being pounded mercilessly, did Miles begin to protest this going on any longer. He always tried to keep quiet and be a 'good little pet', but there was just a certain point at which he couldn't hold it in any longer. "N-no… Please, stop! A-ah… Master… please…!"

And yet there was a reason Miles was never scolded for this. His begging and pleading was often what drove the older man over the edge. He pushed in deep and released, even then completely silent while Miles gave a groan of physical and emotional anguish. This was always another moment of mixed feelings: relief that it was over, but a sense of drowning in shame, a loathing and disgust at that warmth that spread through his midsection.

Manfred stepped away and concealed himself again, only having to refasten his pants and belt to accomplish this, for – once again – he never removed a single article of clothing for this. He left Miles lying there on the desk, still save for his trembling and the occasional jolt created by his sobs. On camera, the focus was on the explicit sight between his legs, the liquid that dripped from him. There wasn't really any blood this time around, just another mark of his body's conditioning and heightened threshold for abuse.

This was the point at which Miles expected it all to be over. Normally, he'd simply be ordered to get dressed and leave, or he'd be given some kind of speech first depending on what had happened to get him here, or rather, what Manfred was blaming it on. He was sure something would be said this time; a lot of talking and emotional torment had taken place. Why stop now?

"You think I'm finished with you… don't you, boy?"

Miles' breath hitched in his throat when he heard this, and that was followed by a small whimper of fear. "Master… please… I –"

"Silence." Manfred no longer had to shout to get Miles to instantly obey, even in his most desperate moods. He fell silent, lying there panting and awaiting what was in store for him next.

"I informed you that I would be putting more focus toward the means of achieving success as opposed to the emphasis on what will happen should you fail," came Manfred's almost business-like tone, his back to the young man waiting on pins and needles for whatever was coming. "However…" Manfred turned around, a riding crop in his hand once more. "That does not mean failure will go unpunished. You knew better than to disobey me and throw yourself into the Kyll, and yet… you did it anyway. You intended to lay to waste all of the efforts I've put into raising and teaching you… Once again, a blatant show of ingratitude."

He was going to be whipped again? He hated this, of course, but at least it was something he knew, could predict and anticipate. He had feared something worse, something that would torment his mind and…

Why hadn't he been hit yet? Miles had closed his eyes to brace himself, and he was considering opening them again before he felt a hand against his hip. He flinched and squeezed his eyes shut tighter as he was pushed onto his side. It was at this point that he expected the beating to begin, but it was a different sensation that caused such a cry of anguish to rise from within him.

The leather grip of the crop was inside of him. A white-hot flash of pain surged through his body and he was almost certain he'd pass out right then and there. But no… that would've been a mercy. He could feel that unforgiving leather moving inward, beginning the process of tearing him apart. His bound hands formed fists, every muscle tense.

"N-no…! Oh, God… please… stop… Master… please…." His words were cut off as he gave another cry at the feel of that handle being pulled out slightly. There was no need for Manfred to order him to stop speaking; the agony did that just fine.

This was not the first time he'd been violated with some sort of foreign object, but in this moment, Miles decided that this was the worst experience he'd ever had. The blood didn't take long to spill, and the tears didn't take long to overcome him completely. His pleading was unintelligible, for he simply couldn't speak properly through all of this, couldn't think straight.

He was going to die… This was certainly going to kill him… It wasn't the first time he'd thought it that night, and just like the first time, he was terrified. At least when he was threatened with the gun, it hadn't hurt, probably wouldn't have hurt for very long if he'd pulled the trigger. This… was pure torture… How long would it take him to bleed to death…? How long would he have to lie here awake and endure this before his brain finally overloaded and rendered him unconscious… spared him…?

He was barely even aware when it was over. However, by this point, the fear of death had transformed back into the want for death. No one should have to hurt this badly – physically or emotionally – and live to tell about it. He was shaking badly when he felt a pressure on his shoulder and heard that sinister voice in his ear.

"I certainly hope this will be the last time I'll have to teach you this lesson…?"

"Please… Kill me…." Never had his pleading words consisted of these before, but today, it was all truly too much. His lips barely moved from weakness and exhaustion as he whispered his desperate request, his voice only just picked up by the camera still filming every second of this horror. "…I'm so tired… please… Master… let me go…."

Laughter. God, how horrible it sounded! It seemed to surround, envelop him, echo over and over as the loudest thing in his mind, when in reality, it was just a soft, dark chuckle.

"Kill you? I didn't spend all this time here tonight just to let you off so easily…"

Miles could feel the rush of air as Manfred moved away from him, stepping back from the desk to move about the office a bit before turning to just look upon the broken young man lying at the center of attention.

"Look at you… Pathetic. I wonder…" A smirk rested upon his lips as he leaned down just a little, to emphasize his words to Miles.

"…What would your father think of you now…?"

This was the point at which everything around him faded to leave only his heartbeat and his ragged, uneven breathing… and his shame. Miles hardly remembered the rest of the night, and the only reason he was somewhat aware of what had happened after this was because Amelinda had brought it up to him the day after. In his mind, he'd fallen from the world around him into a sea of blackness, hearing only whispers of voices from the outside, voices he couldn't understand.

"Ach… _**Herr von Karma… **_**Look at this…"**

On film, something strange was happening. The image of the poor teen was being intermittently obscured by strange prismatic colors and static lines. The audio was also being distorted slightly, but Manfred could be seen walking toward the camera and disappearing behind it to observe what had seemed to puzzle Amelinda.

"…Did this just start?"

"_**Ja. **_**It's never done that before… Did something just turn on that would mess with it…?"**

"_**Nein. **_**Perhaps it is overheating, though I've never heard of that happening before... No matter. We're done here."**

There was a sudden spike of interference again, and this time, the screen went dark for a moment before the picture returned. There was a shriek from the woman filming, something she apparently hadn't felt the need to filter like she did her spoken words. "What the hell is that! What happened to the lights?"

There was no response from the man standing beside her.

"I'm getting the hell out of here! You pissed off something!" The sound of quick footsteps and then the opening and slamming of the study door signaled someone's exit. Silence fell for a moment, save for the continued electrical or magnetic interference that was causing the picture and sound to behave so strangely, as if the recording was corrupted or damaged.

Then, unmistakably and on film, it became clear why this was so important. There was always a decorative throw blanket draped over the back of the couch in that study, but that night, it had been moved. It rose into the air like some sort of magic carpet, carried on a non-existent breeze over to the desk, and fluttered down to cover the young man lying there. It hid him from view, wrapped around his exposed and battered body to protect and warm him.

Then the bonds fell away. The tie on Miles' wrists unwound itself and fell to the floor, and the young man – in his unconscious state – drew his arms to himself, curling up further into the small, thin blanket, the best comfort he had and would ever have in this room.

Simple, seemingly insignificant actions from an unseen individual, but in reality, it was the best a desperate parent could do for their suffering child from beyond the grave.

Perhaps, had it not been for her experience in the field of criminal law, her steel nerve, Franziska wouldn't have made it to the end of that film.

And even though she'd watched it all the way through, she had all but missed the most important part thanks to the tears that clouded her vision. She'd been crying since before the halfway point, and she couldn't stop. How could somebody be so cruel…. And how could that somebody be her own father…?

The prosecutor shut off the video – which was now just an idling black screen – and ejected the memory card. She threw it aside furiously and stood up, moving toward the bathroom to uselessly dab at her eyes with tissues. Poor… poor Miles… How on earth had he managed to put any of that behind him? How had he buried nine years of that away and hidden it completely from the world? How was it that he wasn't more disturbed…?

And in the midst of all of that, she could hardly even think about what she'd been watching that horrid scene for in the first place. Sure… that could've been doctored, and most would probably claim that it was somehow heavily edited, but why…? What would be the purpose for going through all that trouble just to prove to someone in the future that ghosts existed? She couldn't create the motive in her head no matter what avenue she tried to explore. It all led her to one conclusion.

….That had actually happened…

Slowly, mechanically, Franziska made her way upstairs and carefully opened the door to the bedroom she and Miles were sharing. Tearful eyes met tearful eyes, and she knew right then that his dreams had not been kind to him. She came to his side and lay down, burying her face in his chest, feeling his arms around her.

"I'm s-so sorry…" she sobbed, clinging to him tightly. "Oh god… Miles… h-how did you ever…?"

"…I did what I had to… in order to survive…"


	13. Chapter 12: One Final Plea

**Quicksand**

(Back again with a special dramatic chapter for you guys! LOL Oh, and I'm taking German in college now, so hopefully my writing will become a little more accurate when using the language or referring to the country of Germany. Anyway, enjoy!)

**Chapter 12: One Final Plea**

"…Do you remember it…?"

They had been lying awake for an immeasurable amount of time. They had both pretty much cried themselves to sleep, and now their bedroom was illuminated by the morning sun. Yet, that sleep was just a brief rest, for both had been far too exhausted and upset to discuss anything the previous night. Now, their morning would begin with this depressing topic, but they both knew it had to be done.

"…That night…? Of… of course I remember it…" Miles whispered, not having opened his eyes yet.

"No, I mean… the end of it?" Franziska corrected herself. She was propped up on her elbow, watching him lie there still. She'd known he was awake or she wouldn't have said anything, not that it was easy to do so, even now.

"Oh…." Miles sighed, and then shook his head a little. "To be honest with you… no. I fainted before that happened, but… Isold was 'kind' enough to show me the next day…"

Franziska bit her lip lightly. She'd almost been able to convince herself that – while it would've taken a hell of a lot of work and there was no reason to do so - the tape could've been doctored. However, if it had been shown to Miles the following day, there simply wouldn't have been enough time. "….So it was real…."

"….Why would they have made something like that up….?"

"I don't know… I'm just…." She trailed off and lowered her head. When you spent your whole life believing or not believing in something with such certainty, it is always so difficult to accept that it was all a mistake, even when the evidence is so clear. And yet, this was just another blow, another eye-opener for the young prosecutor. She'd learned about so much she didn't want to know of these past few days, and here was another to add to the list. Honestly… she couldn't say which was the biggest revelation, which had made the biggest impact, which terrified her the most…

"…It was my father…" Miles whispered after a long bout of silence. "…I just… know it was. The idea of him… knowing… about all of that has always sickened me… made me – if possible – more ashamed, but… to know that he was still there for me… trying to help me in any way he still could… It was… probably why I didn't ever try to kill myself after that night… I wanted to die… but he wanted me to live, and… and I owed him that…"

"Miles…." She could feel tears welling up again. His words had struck a chord in her heart, for she simply couldn't imagine how he could've survived that night. She had no idea what that was like, to feel such attachment to a parent. Her father – while she had followed him – had never loved her, and her attachment to him was not one of affection; it had been a thirst for approval and attention. As for her mother, she couldn't even remember her, had no idea what had happened to her, so how could she feel the least bit attached? Could a love that strong really keep someone alive through something like that… even from beyond the grave…?

They both spent another large space of time in silence, in their own heads. Franziska was the first to speak, and her voice quivered with anticipation. "So… what you've been… trying to tell me all this time is that… there's… a spirit… in this house that is… tormenting you…?"

"…Yes…."

"A-and you… you think that spirit is… m-my father…?"

"….yes….."

"…And… what is he here for…?"

This was a question Miles knew he couldn't answer, not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know. Still, he tried to think about it, tried to understand what Manfred and Amelinda wanted the end result of all of this to be. He just didn't think like them… so he couldn't even begin to imagine.

"….I don't know… I wish I did..."

Franziska gazed upon her lover, waiting, thinking, as if the answer would suddenly come to the both of them. Naturally, it didn't, but it was as if, in that moment, someone flipped a switch inside her head. She stood up, her expression turning from one of worry and fear to one of determined resolve. "Well, I think it's about time we found out, don't you?"

A bit taken aback, Miles stared up at her, looking bewildered. "...Pardon?"

"I refuse to sit by and let them torment you!" Franziska stated, her hand forming a tight fist before her. "And, I refuse to let you roll over and take it! We're stronger than this, Miles; _you're _stronger than this!"

Miles supposed he shouldn't have been surprised at the return of her never-say-die attitude, but at the moment, he didn't feel that he could pick himself up that quickly. Furthermore, he had no idea how to figure out what the motives of those two sociopaths could be.

"I'm going to go get ready," Franziska told him. "And then you will do the same, right?"

Miles bit his lip and lowered his head momentarily, his bangs casting a shadow over his face. "...Yes..." he murmured, just choosing to agree and comply. He knew she was right not to give up and sit around, so he would let her pull him along until he found the fight he hoped was still within him.

"Good. I'll be back shortly," she said before turning and walking away into their adjoining bathroom. Miles was sure he knew where they were going today, and to say he didn't wish to go with her was much more than a simple understatement.

And so, after they had both cleaned up and eaten breakfast, Franziska found that getting Miles to leave the house with her wasn't as easy as she'd hoped it would be. "Miles, you can't let her know she's getting to you," the German prosecutor argued. "I'm willing to defend you, but I can't fight this all on my own, you know!"

"Franziska... if you think she has any doubts that she's in my head..."

Franziska gritted her teeth, once more becoming frustrated with him, despite constantly reminding herself she needed to be patient and understanding. "Miles, I tried yesterday, and she refused to budge! I'm certain we would be much more successful if you could just show your resilience!"

"Yes, well... I think we both remember what happened the last time I attempted to face her..."

This comment and the memories it provoked seemed to cut Franziska down a little. She stared at him in silence for a long time, the tension weighing on the both of them, before she finally gave a sigh. "...Fine. Stay here if you wish, even though we both know that's a worse idea than coming along..."

So, against her better judgment, Franziska left the house alone, hoping that when she returned, Miles would be all right. She knew that she would worry until that time, and she made certain that her cellphone was within quick reach should it ring at any point.

"Ah, _Fräulein, _so nice to see you again!"

"Show a little respect, _Herr Astor!_" Franziska snapped, not at all surprised that they couldn't even start out a conversation properly. "It's _Fräu von Karma _and I trust you'll remind your secretary of that as well."

Ewald's response was a laugh as he leaned back in his office chair and folded his arms. "_Es tut mir Leid, Fräulein, _but I'm a bit... 'old school'. And as for _Fräu Isold, _I'm afraid I can't tell her how to address others. So..." He trailed off for a moment, tilting his head a bit to the side to look her over, something he seemed to enjoy doing a little too much. "... what's got your guns blazing today?"

She hated his gaze, his tone... Everything about this man disgusted Franziska von Karma, but the fact that he was in charge of this office was the inescapable truth. She had a substantial amount of doubt that he would cooperate with her, but it was worth a shot, for getting anything done here without his approval would be very difficult, and it was an avenue she wanted to avoid for Miles' sake. "Your secretary has been involved in some horrible crimes and is holding onto proof of my claims. She must be investigated and arrested for blackmailing and exploiting Miles Edgeworth, along with assisting in past crimes against him and harboring the knowledge and evidence of them."

Ewald began to laugh, causing Franziska's blood to instantly reach the boiling point. "You mean those tapes?" he asked, as if the issue was nothing to be concerned with. "I thought we already talked about this, _Fräulein._"

"And you refused me the simplest of answers!" Franziska snapped. "Not to mention your extremely inappropriate advances. Need I remind you that solicitation is also illegal!"

"Come now... It was only a suggestion," the Chief Prosecutor said, waving his hand as if to ward off her hostility. "And now you want to pin this on Amelinda? You certainly were making a scene in her office yesterday; is this what it was all about?"

"She handed me a copy of one of the tapes!" Franziska exclaimed, frustrated that she even had to justify accusing the blond-haired woman. "And according to Miles Edgeworth's own accounts, she was the individual who _created _those tapes! Of course I'm accusing her, and of course I'm furious! This is your office; should you not be working to maintain its integrity?"

"Hah... Integrity..."

Slowly, Ewald rose from his chair and began to walk around his desk. "You haven't changed a bit, have you, _Klein Mädchen? Integrity_! How laughable! You're still such a naive child."

She bared her teeth, standing her ground with clenched fists. "How dare you?" she hissed, blue eyes blazing with anger.

"Tell me, _Fräulein, _how do you think it was that your father made it to the top?" Astor asked, now standing on the visitor's side of his desk and leaning back against it. "Do you still believe – after all this time – that your father had integrity, that he was just an honest, hard-working man who followed the rules and always tried to do what was right?"

"I am not such a fool as to deny the evidence that has been put before me!" she spat back. "My father was a horrible demon of a man, the proverbial Anti-Christ! He was not the saint everyone thought him to be, and I've come to realize that his corruption was not the extent of the filth that has stained what should be an honorable and noble office of prosecutors."

"Then when will you give up this little crusade you and that pathetic American boy have started? We all do what we have to in order to reach the top. Your father fabricated evidence, did the dirty work of corporate bigwigs, and even killed a man to secure his place amongst the legends of the legal world. _Fräu Isold _assisted him and kept his secrets without flaw, and now, she does the same for me, because I too have piled a few skeletons in my closet to get to where I am today."

Though she had known all along that the three people being mentioned were awful and dishonorable, to here it all put this way, to think that anyone important had to destroy their humanity to get there... it was something she didn't want to accept. She and Miles... well... they had attained their status thanks to their association with her father, but thanks to their refusal to break the law in order to appear as if they were upholding it, they would never be viewed the way her father had been, perfect and infallible.

"So... _Fräulein_... How about you?" Ewald inquired, a sinister tone seeping into his voice. "Are you willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want, or will you continue this pointless pursuit of some imaginary thing you call justice?"

And here it was; the ultimate decision. Never did she want to dirty her hands or sacrifice her honor to right a wrong, but what if it was the only way? She needed to save Miles from further humiliation, but how could she lower herself to the level of these criminals pretending to be protectors of the sanctity of justice and the law? What was it all worth, and was there another way, a way to take down such important and powerful figures that didn't involve scheming and underhanded tricks?

What would Miles have her do...?

"...Forget it, Astor," she growled, looking him directly in the eyes as she spoke. "I would never conspire with swine like you. If I cannot get you to do what is right and bring Isold to justice, then I will take my issue down to the precinct and have your entire office investigated, now that I know Bitburg's prosecutors are nothing but mobsters!" With those biting remarks and her bold declaration of no surrender, Franziska turned on her heel and marched for the door, ready and determined to bring these liars and thieves to their knees. She would not be compromised, would not be silences. She was Franziska von Karma, a woman who demanded respect and would damn well receive it!

_Click-click_

She froze immediately with her hand on the doorknob, that all-too-familiar sound zapping the determination right out of her. Slowly, she turned, and sure enough, she was staring down the barrel of a revolver.

"...Have a seat, _Fräulein_..." Ewald said in a calm, would-be-casual tone of voice, a smirk on his lips and his gun aimed steadily for the young woman with her back to the office door. "I'm afraid I can't just let you walk away. After all... we haven't reached an agreement to satisfy the both of us, now have we?"

"_Herr Edgeworth_, would you like me to put on a pot of tea?"

"Hm?" Miles looked up from the table he'd been intently staring at for a length of time he couldn't measure. "Oh... Yes, thank you..." he replied to the maid standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He wasn't used to having servants, or whatever they were called now days. He'd not lived in this house for seven years, and even then it had felt like some Medieval Lord's Mansion as opposed to a modern estate.

He watched the maid disappear into the kitchen, and then turned his gaze toward the tall windows that composed the wall behind the dining table he was sitting at. The windows allotted him a perfect view of the open field that was the backyard of this estate, and he could almost imagine a few dozen surfs or slaves working beneath the clouded sky above a couple hundred years ago.

But, alas, their had only been one slave in this house that he had ever been aware of; him, and any length of time he'd spent outside had been a rare treat.

He sighed, and turned away from the scene in order to clear his mind. He could remember how unbearably hot it used to get in this room on those bright and sunny days when the light would shine directly through the wall of windows, how he'd felt like an ant under a magnifying glass while eating afternoon meals in here and wondering how his mentor had tolerated it while always wearing those heavy suits. Really, he couldn't recall a single time when Manfred had not been dressed as if he was going to some extremely important event, and never had a drop of sweat glistened on the older man's brow, whether sitting at the head of the table directly beneath the glaring heat, or otherwise.

Miles clenched his fist upon the dining table, his nails grinding over the expensive, polished wood, leaving not a single mark upon it. Why was he thinking about any of that as if this place was worth reminiscing about? He was trying to forget, not recall details and take himself back in time. He'd done enough of that against his own will lately, and it was all horrible, save for the few fleeting moments of what he'd known to be happiness spent with the young Franziska. Those were all he wanted to hold onto from his past, for even then, the foundation of their relationship was being laid, a process he never wanted to forget.

He was drawn out of his reverie by the loud whistle of a teapot from the kitchen, and a few moments later, the maid appeared carrying a black tray in her hands, baring the steaming kettle with a cup and saucer. She placed it before him on the table, and then gave him a bit of a smile, as if noticing his troubled appearance.

"_Danke schoen," _he murmured, giving her a nod in response. Nothing more was said as she walked away, back into the kitchen, and Miles reached out to pour himself a cup. Perhaps this would help him relax; it normally worked, after all. He just couldn't shake the feeling that he was in far too deep to be rescued by a small cup of tea.

As he began to sip the hot liquid, Miles listened to the clatter of dishes from the kitchen and tried to focus on the hear and now, his current surroundings. Yet, he couldn't stay out of his head while sitting here alone on a quiet, overcast afternoon in this old house. His gaze slowly turned back to the landscape beside him, out over the field to the tree line at the edge of this huge property. Upon first arriving here, he'd still had that childish sense of adventure, and he'd once gone exploring into those woods and become lost for a couple of hours. It had been Franziska that found him; that tenacious three-year-old girl had led him back out of the trees, scolding him all the way about being so foolish as to wander off and get himself lost.

He laughed softly to himself as this memory returned to him, and as he brought his cup to his lips for another sip of tea, he continued to gaze outside and think about those few precious times he'd actually seen the sun from the opposite side of the glass back then. He'd been such a pale young man, and though he wasn't much darker now, he normally had a much healthier look to him, save for times like this when he was dealing with too much stress.

As he scanned the scene before him, his gaze fell upon something that interrupted the smooth line of grass and trees. Slowly, he lowered his cup from his lips until it touched the table once more, but he was no longer paying it any mind. He knew what he was looking at, and it was something he'd not thought about once since returning here.

Near the very back of the property, protected by a sturdy white wooden fence, sat the Von Karma family burial sight. The thing that had caught his eye was the large monument in the center, an aged marble statue, which he could not clearly see from this distance. He'd been out there before, but not since his first couple of years living here. He had not visited the sight in fifteen or so years... not even though there had been a significant addition to the sight since then...

He had no idea what compelled him to stand up and push his chair back under the dining table, but before he could stop himself, he was walking toward the sliding glass door that led out onto the back patio. He stepped out into the cool air, a light breeze causing his bangs to flutter before his face as he placed his hands upon the wooden railing that enclosed the concrete platform he stood upon. It was a fair day outside, but now – like every other part of this estate – it all felt eerie. Far too often did he feel like he was living in some psychological thriller movie, the kind that could give you goosebumps just with its atmosphere and the occasional appearance of the supernatural just to keep the audience on the edge of their seats. No blood, no gore, no cheap scares where something jumps out of the shadows and gets a few gasps of surprise, maybe a scream or two from those without a steeled nerve.

No... this was true fear, true tension, true suspense, and it was all his reality, not a movie or a Stephan King novel, and now he was staring out at a cemetery. How frightfully cliché...

But cliche exists for a reason, and after a bit more deliberation, Miles found himself stepping down off the porch and beginning his walk across the neatly-cut grass toward that shadowed, fenced-in section just on the edge of the woods. He really didn't want to make this trip, but he almost felt as though he had business there, as if... he'd find answers there, as ridiculous as that sounded, even to him.

The walk took a good five minutes, giving him time to remember how this place had seemed even bigger when he was a child, though back then he'd had the life left within him to sprint the distance, not this slow, dead march he was making now. When he finally reached the white fence, he could see that it needed some maintenance. The wood was splintered and rotting in places, and the white paint was chipping off in several places. It was as if this was the only part of this estate that imperfection could touch, for it was here that the prestigious family was proven to be just like everyone else, mortal and destined to die as are all humans.

Even the chain lock was rusted to uselessness, allowing Miles to simply pull the gate open and step inside, the hinges creaking slightly as it swung shut behind him. The grass was longer within the boundaries of the fence than throughout the rest of the property, and it was obvious that this cemetery just wasn't cared for as well as everything else. Miles looked around at all the headstones, some fairly recent, some hundreds of years old with faded engravings and small patches of moss covering portions of them. Here lay the history of the Von Karma dynasty, and in the center of it all stood the largest and probably one of the oldest headstones here.

Miles approached the monument, peering up into the helmeted face of a knight. This statue was ten feet tall, its base standing at four feet and the knight at about six. The marble was shaped into a grand-looking armored man, holding a two-handed broadsword against his shoulder and bearing the family crest upon his breastplate. Upon the base was written a faded epitaph, but Latin was not a language Miles had ever studied, so he had no hope of reading it. This proved that the Von Karma manor had been around since the Medieval era, and Miles supposed that this family had once been noble, at the top of the social pyramid, second only to royalty. They were descended from Lords and knights, and it made perfect sense why they had become prosecutors. Knights were protectors of justice and fearless warriors, and while the battlefield had become the courtroom, Miles viewed prosecutors as modern knights, battling those who would do others harm and upholding the law of the land.

...So what had happened...? What had begun the down-spiral of corruption? Was it possible that this family had always been that way, that they had all put up a front for the world while dealing in evil to stay on top? Or, had someone turned away from that nobility and chosen that path of evil? Had someone abandoned the old codes of chivalry and honor to gain notability through deception?

Slowly, the young man turned to finally glimpse the addition to this garden of gravestones, what had not been here fifteen years before. He hesitated, and then began to walk toward it, feeling his heart pound against his ribcage. In about ten shaky paces, he reached the tall stone and peered down upon it, far more tense than he probably should have been.

_"__**Manfred von Karma – A life devoted to the purification of our world shall never be forgotten."**_

Had Miles less tact, he could have spat upon the grave at his feet. How laughable! Manfred von Karma had devoted his life to nothing but his own gratification, getting his name in lights. He had cared nothing about removing evil from the world; in fact, he'd contributed generously to that evil!

But no one understood that... Only a hand-full of people knew the truth about him, and their voices would not be heard. Even after he had been convicted of murder, his name was still honored and praised, as if what he'd done was an act of necessity, something righteous that was just so unfortunate to have removed him from his throne.

"...You were vile from the start, weren't you...?" Miles asked the headstone in a soft, quivering voice, his hand hovering just above its surface as if wanting to touch it but knowing it would burn. "You cared for no one beyond yourself... We were all just pawns to you, expendable pieces you used to get ahead in the game. But what are you now...? Just a rotting pile of ditritous, buried six feet below the earth and serving no purpose other than a feast for the worms. And yet..."

Miles drew his hand back to grasp his own shirt, wearing his usual suit excluding the jacket and cravat. He gripped his shirt color tightly, almost able to feel the non-existent leather dog collar beneath.

"And yet here I am... speaking to you as if you stood before me, as if you would hear me and be reasoned with... You still have an unbreakable hold over me, and... and you know it, don't you? Still, even after your death you will not let me go free. Have I not paid whatever debt you believe my father owed to you? You took his life for what he said, and then you took his son! For nine years I suffered! With blood, sweat, and tears I paid that debt, with my dignity, my soul, and my freedom! With countless nights void of sleep or tormented by nightmares, all the while ravaged by overwhelming guilt, a belief that I was the one with a debt to pay!"

His voice had gone from a quiet, bitter tone to a shout that echoed throughout this solitary place. He spoke to the clouded sky above as tears now began to slide down the sides of his face, his desperation and anguish spilling out once more in his most passionate attempt to reach the man that lay only a short distance below the ground he stood upon. When he spoke again, he was no longer shouting; the volume had dropped to almost the level it had started at.

"...Wasn't it enough...? Why won't you unchain me...? Why must my pain be dragged up and put on display for the entire world to see? Why must you torment me with nightmares... and haunt me...? Can you not rest with the knowledge that Gregory Edgeworth's son belonged to you for so many years, that you left so many scars upon my body and mind that will never truly heal? Do I really have to die as well...? Can I not have what's left of me, to pick up the broken, scattered pieces and live out the rest of my life with some semblance of normalcy?"

It was at this point, shaking and lightly sobbing, Miles descended to his knees before the gravestone. "...Just this once... won't you listen to me...? Please... release me... I beg of you, let me live in peace... I have nothing more to give you that I have not already given countless times... So please... let me go... Let me go..."

That breeze returned, cold against his tear stained face, and suddenly the wind began to pick up. His bangs blew back away from his face, his shirt collar fluttered, and a crescendoing hiss sounded from the treetops. Miles slowly lifted his chin to gaze back toward the sky, noting that the clouds had darkened, blotting out the sun almost completely. It appeared as though it was about to storm, but the signs had come out of nowhere.

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground a few feet behind him caused the young man to gasp and turn slightly to look back. His gaze fell upon a large stone that he didn't remember seeing there before. He would have noticed it, for it was not a headstone. It was haphazardly shaped and lying at no particular angle, as if it had been randomly dropped there. He was sure it had not been there before, however...

His breathing quickened as he slowly stood up and turned to walk toward the rock, all the while looking around to try and find anyone that might be lurking in the shadows, but there was no sign of life out here save for himself. Perhaps the object had just been lodged somewhere and was knocked loose by the gusting wind... Perhaps it had been there all along and he'd just been too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice? But in that case, what had made that sound he'd just heard? This seemed the only thing out of place...

With trembling hands, Miles picked up the misplaced stone, looking upon it with curiosity and even a little fear. Where had this come from? Why had it just appeared from nowhere and hit the ground to draw his attention to it?

As he examined the seemingly irrelevant object, he noticed a series of markings on one face of it. Looking more closely, he realized those markings formed words, letters that appeared to have been scratched sloppily into the stone's surface by something much less sharp than a professional carving tool.

_**"Franziska von Karma"**_

Miles' blood ran cold, freezing his breath deep in his chest.

He had given up everything. He had nothing left... accept Franziska... and here was her name, carved upon the face of a stone in her family's burial ground.

"No..." he choked, staring at the words and trying to convince himself he was imagining this, but no matter how many times he blinked, the name of his lover did not vanish. As a boom of thunder sounded overhead, panic overcame the young prosecutor. The heavy stone dropped from his hands to the earth below and he turned to run, flinging the gate open and sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him toward the manor in the distance. The sky had nearly turned black, and he felt the beginnings of rainfall as he ran, hurriedly pulling his cellphone from his chest pocket and hitting the appropriate speed-dial number to call Franziska.

With each ring, his fear grew, and when that ringing stopped, so did his heart.

_"Guten Tag, Herr Edgeworth..."_

Miles came to a complete halt, forgetting all about the incoming storm and the rain beginning to soak him. "..._Herr Astor..._ Why are you answering Franziska's phone...?" he asked, a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

_"Just doing her a small favor," _the older man replied. _"I'm afraid she is... incapable of answering it herself at the moment, you see."_

"What have you done!" Miles shouted into the phone, his panic and terror unable to be concealed. "Where the hell is she! I swear, if you lay a hand on her, I'll ~"

_"Ah, ah, ah," _Ewald cut him off._ "You're in no position to make threats right now, Herr Edgeworth, and for her sake... it's probably not a wise choice to do so either. Oh, and don't worry. There's no need to tell you where we are; you'll be catching a ride here shortly."_

Miles didn't even have time to react to this. Suddenly, he felt his air supply completely shut off, as if someone had come up behind him and wrapped their hands firmly around his neck. However, when he dropped his phone and brought his own hands up to pry them away, he felt only his throat. Panic, terror, shock, and the depletion of his oxygen were enough to render him unconscious in mere moments.

And as he felt the darkness swallow him whole, one last sound reached his ears. It was not thunder. It was not the rain, nor the wind, nor his own heartbeat.

It was laughter: hellish, cold, and hauntingly familiar.


	14. Chapter 13: The Only Way Out

**Quicksand**

(Happy Holidays, everyone! What odd timing. LOL For Christmas, I got you all a cliff-hanger! Enjoy! *evil grin*)

**Chapter 13: The Only Way Out**

"**Mr. Von Karma, we're finished photographing the body. You may continue your investigation now."**

**Manfred's only response was a nod, and with a glance at his student, he approached the dead police officer lying crumpled in the corner of the old parking garage they currently stood within. The young man accompanying him – twenty-two-year-old Miles Edgeworth – followed silently and obediently, having gotten over his fear of corpses shortly after his arrival in America. He did much of his work on his own recently, but on occasion, he would still be ordered to join his mentor during an investigation, or to serve as co-council during a trial. Considering the older man needed no help and rarely ever asked Miles for any input, the young prosecutor viewed it as a form of baby-sitting, as if he had the will to run off and do something forbidden of him when Manfred wasn't around.**

**So here he was, spending his time here watching a slow investigation on a sweltering summer afternoon instead of doing something productive, like studying his own caseload. Of course he never objected; that would be the most foolish thing he could ever do.**

**Unfortunately, he could not feign interest in this case when it was not his to solve. Miles found himself staring out over the low wall and between the support beams, watching the traffic whiz by and send visible waves of heat up from the asphalt. If he were to go outside, he'd no longer be under the shade of the parking garage, but he could tell by the movement of the few trees around the area that there was a nice breeze, which was not making its way into the concrete structure. This building was stifling, full of cars and people; perhaps a walk out in the sunlight would do him some good.**

"**Sir, I think I'll go look around on the ground level a bit more," Miles said after a long span of silence, using a normal and more acceptable form of address while in public, as always. "Perhaps there are traces of activity there..."**

**Manfred's response was nothing more than a small noise of acknowledgement, alerting Miles to the fact that he was barely being paid attention to. Taking this for approval, the young prosecutor turned and walked toward the ramp leading down to the ground level, passing by the detectives and ignoring a wave from the bearish Detective Gumshoe, a bumbling man that had – for some reason – developed an odd sort of loyalty to him. **

**Miles exited the parking garage, placing his hand above his eyes like a visor as he was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. According to the large temperature reading upon the bank beside the parking structure, it was ninety-seven degrees outside, and needless to say, Miles' usual suit was not meant for hot weather. However, the prosecutor chose to just deal with it and began to walk slowly along the sidewalk, scanning the familiar sight of downtown Los Angeles. The breeze wasn't all that refreshing, but it was better than nothing, though Miles didn't have to wonder why there weren't too many other people walking or biking today.**

**As he strolled along the rather busy four-lane street, letting his mind wander, the sudden sound of a barking dog caught his attention. Miles raised his head and looked further down the sidewalk, noticing what appeared to be a large Alaskan Husky chained to a sign post outside of some type of high-end department store. The animal seemed to be looking directly at him, its mouth wide open and its tongue hanging out.**

**He wasn't sure what compelled him to stray from his path and approach the dog, but looking back, he credited the decision to empathy. The poor creature was chained up with not a single square inch of shade, standing on the scorching concrete with enough length of chain to allow it to run out in front of one of the many cars speeding by. However, that length of chain was not long enough to allow it to reach the patch of grass nearby, which presented a fountain full of potentially cool water. He had no clue for how long this dog had been standing out here, but it was panting heavily, baking beneath a thick, dark gray coat of fur.**

**As he reached the Husky, it peered up at him excitedly with wide blue eyes, obviously hopeful that the presence of a human would come with cool water or shelter. Miles stared back into those shining blue eyes, torn with the knowledge that this dog belonged to somebody...**

…**.It was somebody's pet... and just look how much they cared...**

**The prosecutor reached up to place his hand against his own neck, feeling the leather beneath all the layers of material that covered his neck and hid the inappropriate item from view. This dog... it had one just like his, only thicker, less sleek and less likely to be missed. Like this dog, he too yearned for freedom, even though his own chain was more figurative, more emotionally binding than physically.**

**So how could he deny this poor creature its freedom when he could so easily give it? With that thought in mind, he reached down and unclipped the chain from the metal ring on its collar. The moment this was done, the Husky bolted toward the grassy area, rushing to the fountain to lean over the stone ledge and plunge its head beneath the water to drink.**

**Miles watched from where he stood while the dog drank its fill, now certain that it had been out here for far too long if it was so parched. How could someone be so careless? Their dog could have died out here, yet they were probably inside shopping for a new pair of expensive shoes or something without sparing a single thought for the well-being of the animal that depended on them. Such a selfish person didn't deserve to have such a beautiful and loyal companion at their side, and there remained not a doubt in his mind now that he was doing the right thing.**

**Before too long, the Husky descended back to all fours and bounded back toward Miles, its tongue still hanging out and its tail now in the air and wagging. He couldn't help but smile, and when the dog stood up on its hind legs and placed its paws against his chest, he didn't spare a thought about how filthy his suit would become. He simple stroked the animal's head and back, nearly flinching at how hot its fur felt to the touch.**

**And then his fingers traced over that thick collar once more, and a surge of determination came over him. He was going to set this creature free. He would have loved to take it into his care, to treat it like an adored and cherished companion, better than anyone would ever treat a household pet. Alas, he knew he could not. Manfred would never hear of it, and he himself spent so much time working that he feared he would unintentionally neglect the dog if it were possible.**

**So, with the hope that it would find a new home, a loving family to care for it, Miles unbuckled its collar and let the item drop to the ground with the chain. As if giving him one final thanks, the Husky barked, and then dropped down to all fours and turned to trot away, heading for an alley between two of the large buildings that lined this busy street. It seemed to know that he could not be its caretaker, and for this, Miles was grateful. If it had tried to follow him, the guilt might have really started to sink in.**

"**Ah! Here he is, Mr. Von Karma!"**

Miles whirled around to see one of the police officers standing a few yards away, calling back to his mentor, who was now approaching and looking rather annoyed.

"**Miles Edgeworth, I thought you were going to investigate the ground level of the parking structure," Manfred said as he came nearer, his eyes scanning the scene before him: the limp chain and unbuckled dog collar on the cement, and the dirty smudges on his pupil's suit jacket. The displeasure in his expression grew, and he came nearer, leaning down to pick up the dog collar to inspect it. Miles was sure that he had momentarily wondered if it belonged to his own pet and had been discarded in an act of rebellion. "What is this?"**

"...A dog collar, Sir," Miles responded simply, as if such an answer was really what was being asked of him.

"**What, did someone's dog get loose?" the officer inquired, raising an eyebrow at the sight before him.**

**Manfred looked at his student, then at the dirt on his jacket, connecting the dots behind a mask of indifference. He scoffed and dropped the collar to the ground, taking hold of Miles' arm and turning to walk back toward where he had parked his car. "Come. We're finished for today," the German man stated, his grip just a bit too firm as he led Miles along.**

**The young man looked back at the place where he'd last seen that Husky disappear behind a building and sighed, lowering his head and facing forward again. He now envied that creature, but he certainly did not regret his decision. He was happy to have helped another living creature even if he himself was trapped, being roughly pushed into the passenger seat of Manfred's car.**

"**Mr. Von Karma, is something wrong? I thought you wished to examine the victim's vehicle," called the officer that had accompanied Manfred to find his missing student.**

"**I will return for that a bit later," Manfred replied, standing on the driver's side of the car with the door partially open. "I feel the need to take Mr. Edgeworth home; the heat seems to be getting to him."**

"**Oh, all right. Goodbye for now."**

**Manfred said nothing as he got into the car, pulled the door shut, and started the engine. He spoke not a word to his passenger, and though the tension was viscous, Miles was grateful for this. It allowed him to gaze out his window and forget for a short while that Manfred surely knew what he had done, and what it meant to him.**

ooooooooooooooooo

Sobbing... The soft, frightened crying of a woman...

That was the first sound that reached his ears through the heavy darkness clouding his world. Next came pain, a horrible pounding in his head, like a bad hangover or the feeling of someone hitting him over and over with something hard. His own breath came to him next, suddenly quick and irregular, and then...

"Oh, I think _Herr Edgeworth _has finally decided to join us..."

With a small, pained groan, Miles hesitantly opened his eyes, somewhat grateful for the dim lighting in the room. However, what he was not grateful for were the cuffs on his wrists, holding his arms behind his back, the rope around his chest and waist that tied him to what felt like a wooden bench, or the familiar feeling of something wrapped loosely around his neck.

"_N'Abend, Schatzi..._" cooed that sickly-sweet female voice from somewhere to his left, and he realized that hers was not the first he'd heard. The other speaker... had been a man...

He glanced slightly to his left and, sure enough, his gaze fell upon Amelinda and her mane of blond curls. Those ruby-red lips bore a smile, a smile he loathed above all others. "Sorry that's a bit uncomfortable for you, but I'm afraid the couch is already taken. First come, first serve, you know?"

"...Amelinda... What is this...?" He felt weak, and his lips barely moved as he spoke. He was still trying to wake up his muscles, but every part of him was so stiff; he had to wonder for how long he'd been lying here.

"Why, it's just a little get-together, _Schatzi_. We had _Frau von Karma _here, so we thought you might like to join us as well."

Miles' breath hitched in his throat, and then he clenched his teeth in a growl. "W-where is Franziska?" he demanded in the most intimidating voice he could muster, which wasn't saying much at the moment.

Amelinda's response was a small giggle. "She's right over there," she said, pointing to the opposite side of the room.

One look, and Miles couldn't believe what he was seeing. Amelinda's earlier comment was true: the couch was indeed taken. Franziska lay upon an old brown leather couch against the opposite wall, and glimpsing her also told him where the sobbing was coming from. The young woman was lying on her stomach, wearing nothing but her undergarments and hiding her face in her arms. Her small, pale frame shook with sobs, and even from this distance Miles could make out a few dark spots on her skin, indicating some kind of violence against her.

Fury. Blinding fury flared up within him, and he momentarily forgot about the ropes holding him down. He tried to lunge, to leap up, but his restraints were too sturdy. "What have you done!" he snapped, his own pain taking a backseat to his lover's plight.

"Calm down, _Herr Edgeworth..._" Only then did Miles finally notice the Chief Prosecutor, stepping out of the shadows beside the couch to stand over Franziska. "I haven't done anything too drastic... yet..." As he said this, he began to trace his fingers through her hair, making the young woman squeak in protest and try to shrink away from him. "You're the one we're really concerned with. However, should you choose not to play by our rules, I just might have to indulge my desires..."

"Don't you DARE, you sick bastard!"

"Ah, ah, ah..." Amelinda chimed. "Be a good boy, _Schatzi_. What would _Herr von Karma _say if he saw you behaving like this?"

Miles felt his stomach lurch, but he refused to give into that instinctual fear. "I don't give a DAMN what he would think! I set no store by the wishes of a dead man! Now, unbind me, you pathetic co~"

It was as if his voice had been snatched away from him, as if his vocal chords had completely frozen in place, but as soon as the initial shock wore off, Miles realized he was choking again. The item around his neck – the identity of which he was certain he knew – was now pressed firmly against his throat, choking him and making breathing and speech impossible.

And worst of all, no one was standing over him.

He could hear Franziska give a wail of fear and misery in the background while Amelinda tsk'ed at him. "Such a stubborn streak you've had going! Well, I think it's about time you remembered your place..."

The pressure on his throat was relieved, allowing him to take in a gasp of air and cough a few times to get his lungs working. But now, the fear had set in, the knowledge that standing over him, unseen and incorporeal, was the man behind all of this, the man that had always had such a powerful grasp on his mind, the man he feared too greatly to resist.

"I will admit," Isold began, speaking while Miles tried to regain his breath. "I was unnerved when I figured out that _Herr von Karma _hadn't quite left us yet, but then I realized... just how much sense it makes. You see, _Herr von Karma _always made certain to finish what he started, and if all is understood properly, he has some unfinished business with you."

So, finally, is had been confirmed that he was not insane, but this was far from good news. Miles could feel himself shaking, and for a few seconds, he thought he might pass out again. However, the continued crying of the woman he loved could not be expelled from his notice, and it was this that forced him to face this horrifying situation and not escape into the safety of unconsciousness.

"…What do you want…?" he muttered, speaking to the two people holding them prisoner… and perhaps the vengeful spirit hovering somewhere near him.

"It's really quite simple, _Herr Edgeworth,_" Ewald Astor answered him, stepping over to his work desk to pick up a manila folder filled with several sheets of paper. Miles didn't have much of a mind to wonder how they were getting away with doing this in the Chief prosecutor's office. "You see, _Herr von Karma _had you and Franziska in his will to inherit his fortune. However, he never did intend for you to be there for very long, because – obviously – had you been convicted as he'd planned, you would have been removed and the image would have been complete."

The younger prosecutor did his best to hide the pain the mention of that betrayal caused him. To this day, he still had not actually gotten over that, hwo he'd nearly gone to the penitentiary to beg Manfred to tell him that it wasn't true, how his Stockholm syndrome had nearly driven him to another attempt on his life. He fought off the sickness it created and kept a firm glare fixed on his face as he looked at Ewald, waiting to hear the reason for all this, to find out what would save them…

"Now, in that case, everything would have been left to this beautiful _Freulein _here," he stated, indicating Franziska. "This would have been just fine… had she not decided to disgrace her late father by beginning a relationship with you…"

He hated thinking about it… He wished he'd never had to, but this whole situation had forced him to remember what he was to the father of the woman he now called his lover. Not only that, but Manfred would certainly not have approved of a relationship between the two of them in any case. They were supposed to be rivals, enemies.

Still, he didn't understand… "And what does any of this have to do with either of you…?" he inquired, keeping his gaze fixed on the other man, as if there was someone visible standing over him that he could never make direct eye-contact with. "You want money…? Fine… How much will make you stop tormenting us…?"

That soft little laugh that he'd always hated came from the blond woman standing near the office door. "Oh, _Schatzi_, you don't believe it is quite that simple, do you?" She smiled, folding her arms over her chest. "We don't just want the money; we want everything: the money, the manor, everything. After all, _Herr von Karma_ believes that Ewald and I are much more deserving than 'his ungrateful children'."

Miles gritted his teeth, able to hear those words being spoken in the deceased prosecutor's voice. So, this was all just about money and assets… They had destroyed his image and tortured the both of them simply for wealth they didn't even need. Sure, he and Franziska made enough on their own to continue their upscale life, but it was simply the principle of the matter that enraged him.

And plus… it made little sense… The spirit of Manfred von Karma had been tormenting him just get him to give their inheritance to these two? He really didn't know anything about the nature of residual energy, but that sounded far too materialistic and trivial to be a reason for someone to stick around after death.

No… there was something more… but if this was what would get them out of here, it wasn't worth it to him to risk more harm to either of them.

"….Fine… You can have it… I don't want his money anyway…." His tone was one of defeat and bitterness. He had averted his gaze from everyone now, just staring down at the binds across his own chest and stomach. They would have to untie him if they wanted him to sign off onanything, so at least he'd get some relief from this uncomfortable position he'd been placed in.

This time, it was Ewald who laughed. "Not much of a fight in you, is there…? A bit of a shame, but at least we don't have to waste an entire day." He gave a nod of his head, and Amedlinda walked casually over to Miles to begin untying him. "All it took to get _Freulein von Karma _to sign was the threat of your life… You're both so easy to manipulate. It's difficult to believe we're dealing with the disciples of the legendary Manfred von Karma."

"…And I find it hard to believe neither of you has been imprisoned yet…" Miles countered as he was freed and able to sit up. "I wonder if the people of Bitburg know just how many criminals they have had in their legal system for all these years…"

Amedlinda clicked her tongue as she leaned over him to unlock the handcuffs. "What did I say earlier, _Schatzi_? You need to remember your manners…"

He could feel a hand gripping the back of the collar around his neck, and it did not belong to Amelinda. He was unbound by physical means, but he was snared in the trap of his own emotional damage. He could not fight, and as he was led by an invisible force toward the papers Ewald had placed upon the desk, the fear writhed in his stomach like thousands of tiny maggots, gnawing at his resolve and breaking him down to the point of no resistance.

Before him on the polished walnut desk lay the deed to the manor that had been owned by the von Karma family for hundreds of years, and the proper forms to turn his inheritance over to Amelinda Isold. He stared at them, brooding over how smoothly this was all going for the crooks now watching his every move. They were making sure he didn't try anything sneaky, but they weren't the ones keeping him subdued. It was that presence standing behind him, the grip on the collar around his neck, and the sheer cold freezing his blood.

Swallowing the terror, Miles moved his hand slowly toward the pen that Ewald had dropped before him, picking it up and uncapping it. He could still hear Franziska's shaky breath in the background, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her right now. She wasn't crying anymore… probably because it seemed they were free once Miles scrawled a couple of signatures.

Everything around him seemed to fade out as he leaned over the desk to sign his name, to remove the last legal ties he had to his old teacher, but all it did was remind him of the torment he'd endured for nine long years… staring down at a desk… Manfred von Karma standing there behind him… preventing his escape and forbidding resistance…

And then it was done. He had signed away his portion of their inheritance and the large house they were currently staying in, but he didn't stand up immediately. He was distracted by his disturbed mind, held in place until that pressure was lifted, giving him permission to stand up straight and put down the pen.

"….There… It's yours…" he mumbled, trying to shake all of this off. "Now let us leave… and leave us be…."

"Not just yet, _Herr Edgeworth,_" Ewald said, holding up a hand to stop him from doing anything. "There was one more thing… one more condition to allowing us to have this fortune…"

Miles felt his chest tighten even further, if that was possible. "And what was there?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Astor walked over to his desk and leaned down to get something out of one of the drawers. When he stood up again, he was holding a pistol in his hands, checking the clip to ensure that it was loaded. Franziska gasped with fear, and Miles just stared with wide eyes.

"He wanted you dead, Edgeworth…" Ewald said, now smirking at the fear they were both demonstrating. "But he had a rather specific want, whether or not you had ended up in prison."

Ewald placed the gun down on the desk in front of Miles, setting it in just the right position for the younger manto pick it up with his right hand.

"He wanted you to take your own life… and that's what you're going to do."

"NO!" Franziska pushed herself up, ready to leave her place on the couch and protect her lover. Obviously, she had not been aware of this condition upon her capture. Unfortunately, Ewald was quick, and before she could get far, he approached her, and with the sickening sound of a slap, Franziska fell back to the cushions, a sharp scream escaping her lips and a dark red mark appearing upon her cheek.

"Don't touch her!" Miles growled, clenching his fists and preparing to now be the defender. Yet, he could not move. He was held there and reminded quickly of who was right there with him. He paled, and now, he really registered what was happening….

"You want her to make it out of here alive?" Ewald asked with a grip on Franziska's hair. "Do it, Edgeworth. It's you or her." The false politeness was gone now. His tone was threatening and demanding, leaving no room for question.

Anyone else could have picked up that pistol and taken care of these two huge problems for the sake of saving their own life and that of a loved one, but Miles Edgeworth could not. It wasn't the knowledge that he would spend the rest of his life in prison that kept him from doing it… It was that presence behind him, that controlling hand, reminding him constantly that he was nothing but a worthless puppet, a filthy whore… that he would be doing himself and the world a favor by complying…

"_This game is through, boy… I will no longer tolerate your insolence…"_

"No… you're dead…." That voice… It was so clear, it could not have been in his head. Miles stood there as rigid as a board, his complexion pale and his eyes rolled back. Everyone in the room was staring at him, but he could no longer see them, had no idea that they were listening to one end of this conversation.

"_And you will soon join me… Pick up the gun, Miles…"_

His heart pounded in his ears. His breath came quick and labored. His hand moved to the gun.

"Miles! No! Please, don't!"

"_Such a stupid girl… What were you trying to do, Miles? You once called me sick, but to cope with your pathetic neediness, you seduced my daughter. You were never in love; you just needed a way to fill you created with useless emotions…"_

"…That's not… true… It's not…. True…." His fingers curled around the gun and he began to lift it, his eyes falling shut. "It's got… nothing to do with you…. You're dead…. You're dead…."

"Miles… Miles, please… Stop it…" She was crying again, terrified and desperately wishing he would listen to her, for she could not physically get to him now.

"_Put the gun in your mouth…"_

Miles raised the barrel of the gun to his lips, his hand shaking so badly he could hardly control this action.

"NO! STOP IT!"

The cool metal tasted wretched, bitter.

"_Tsk, tsk, tsk… Now doesn't this look familiar… It's as if no time has elapsed… You still cannot defy me, can you…?"_

The world around him was nothing but darkness, and he could no longer hear Franziska's desperate pleas. All that he knew was that haunting voice, that instinctive obligation to do whatever it told him to….. because it was his Master…

_"Pull the trigger, Miles. End your miserable existence like you should have done years ago."_


	15. Chapter 14: Unchained

**Quicksand**

(Hello again! The next chapter will probably be the last one, so hope you guys have enjoyed this!)

**Chapter 14: Unchained**

_"What are you waiting for…? Do it….!"_

His fingers began to tighten on the trigger of the gun, longing to squeeze it yet desperate to survive. A woman screamed and cried in the background, but he could not hear her. He knew he could not disobey… The pull was too strong, and besides… wouldn't it be better this way? His honor and reputation had been destroyed… He had to constantly live with the memories, and now… this spirit would forever torment him.

_…Please… Leave me alone… Why won't you leave me alone?_

_"I will never leave you alone. You belong to me! Now do as I say and pull the trigger!"_

And as for Franziska… she didn't deserve to have to deal with his baggage and the disgrace of being associated with someone like him, someone who was now known to the world as a filthy, pathetic-

_"Miles… My son… Please come to your senses…"_

…What? Now, not only was he hearing Manfred's voice, but… but that had been…

_"Miles! Sweetheart… this is your mother… You remember me, don't you…? Listen to your father… There is no reason for this…."_

His… mother…? What was going on here? Was he so delusional and desperate that his mind was bringing to him the voices of his parents to save his life? Or… were they actually there…?

_"Hmph… Useless pleading from souls he would barely remember. What is taking you so long, boy! Do you need my help for even something so simple as this!"_Time stood still, and yet these voices whirled around in the darkness of his mind, calling to him, shouting, demanding, encouraging… He was going mad, and yet it was all so crystal clear. He could hear his parents… people who had actually loved and cared for him. He could hear his master, giving him orders, exerting his overwhelming power.

Stop it! L-leave me alone! Stop it!

"Son… put the gun down… Don't listen to him. You can make your own decision… You can save yourself and Franziska…"

"Miles… Your father and I love you so very much… Live on…. You have your whole life ahead of you… Don't let them destroy you, Miles… Don't…"

Could he really do this…? Could he pull the trigger? Could he break the hold that man had over him and turn the gun on their attackers? Did he have the strength to listen to any of them?

_"I will never leave you alone…"_**BANG**!

_"You can do this, Son!"_

_"You will always belong to me…"_

_"Live…. Live on…"_

_"Worthless waste of life…."_

_"You are strong enough!"_

_"You deserve to die, pathetic whore…."_

_"You have so much to live for!"_

_"Do as I say, my pet…"_

BANG!

A sharp scream, and a wail of misery and fear. Then an angry shout.

"Stupid punk! How dare you!"

Miles Edgeworth opened his eyes, a new light shining within them, a burning fury. The pistol was still in his hand, but the muzzle no longer rested between his lips. It was aimed in the direction of the Chief Prosecutor, who had barely dodged a particularly well-aimed shot, considering the shooter's eyes had been shut tightly.

Franziska looked up from where she had been hiding her face in her arms, now looking quite stunned. She had been so certain he'd killed himself, but there he stood… having turned the gun around at the last second.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Edgeworth!"

"…Get on the ground, Astor…" His voice was quiet, yet extremely dangerous. He was no longer shaking, and the pull upon him was weakening. He was fighting it with everything he had, and finally, his struggles were not going to be ignored.

"You think you can threaten me!" The older man looked shocked and livid. This had been full-proof! According to Amelinda, Miles had always been totally unable to defy von Karma, even as a ghost! What had gone wrong!

"I said get on the ground!" Miles snarled, waving the gun. No one had ever seen him like this before. No one had ever imagined he would be capable of such, including himself, but he had had enough.

"_Schatzi_, you shouldn't be disobeying _Herr von Karma _like this…" Amelinda cooed, coming up behind him without fear of the weapon they had given him. She reached up to grip his shoulders, hoping to restrain him with these little mind games and a small amount of physical force.

But, what she didn't count on was just how angry Miles had become. Without warning, he lashed back at the blond, sending her sprawling several feet away. "Back off, you sadistic bitch!" he snapped, eyes blazing as he turned on her.

Amelinda stared up at him with wide blue eyes, obviously taken completely off-guard by his sudden willpower. "_Schatzi, _what's gotten into you? Why would you hit a ~"

"Don't you DARE say it!" the enraged prosecutor snapped. "How you have the gall to refer to yourself as a 'lady' is beyond me! You are nothing but a conniving scank! You're a vulture, happy to prey upon what was left of me, but too weak and cowardly to make a kill for yourself! The games are over, Isold! And don't you EVER address me with that degrading pet name again!"

They had pushed and pushed, and finally, the dam had split wide open. Since age nine his life had been filled with tragedy, abuse, degradation, and agony, and only now did the hurt morph into anger, allowing him to save his own life.

"Drop the gun, Edgeworth."

The frightened gasp from Franziska was what caused Miles to turn back around, his chest tightening severely when he saw that Astor had produced a knife, and that weapon was now held at the throat of the female prosecutor. He bore his teeth, furious and terrified.

"Coward," he growled. "Get away from her! I won't miss this time!"

"I told you once already," Ewald responded, gripping Franziska's hair and pulling her head back, getting a soft cry of fear and pain out of her. "It's either you, or her. Keep pointing that gun in my direction, and I'll choose for you!"

What was he to do…? He wanted to just pull the trigger and get rid of that son of a bitch, but… it wasn't so easy to just… take a life like that. He'd never done it before, couldn't imagine doing it, and what if he missed the shot? Franziska would die if his aim wasn't dead on, and even if he got the shot, that knife could slip and… and he'd lose her anyway…

Yet, what other choice did he have? This seemed to be his only chance, to kill this man and probably go to prison for life. That was the only way they would both make it out of this alive… So then, was it worth it? Would it not be easier to just turn this weapon on himself, save her and not have to face any more time as a prisoner? Then, there was the possibility that they were lying to him, that they would kill Franziska as well once he was gone, just to keep them both quie~

He was suddenly dizzy, and his vision clouded over. His center of balance shifted, and when the spinning had stopped, he was on his knees on the floor, reeling with the pain from a blunt object and hitting the desk on his way down.

"You should learn to pay closer attention to your surroundings, _Schatzi,"_ came Amelinda's voice through the haze. The secretary was standing over him, holding a heavy lamp in her hands, the base of which she had just used to strike him from behind with all of her might. She put the item down, and then reached for the gun, taking it right out of his hands before he was awake enough to do anything about it.

"I am rather disappointed that everything did not go as planned," she mused, lifting her right leg and pressing her high heeled shoe into his chest, pushing the dazed prosecutor onto his back before her. She kept that sharp heel planted firmly upon his chest and readied the gun in her hand, aiming directly between his eyes. "However, where there is a will, there is a way, and while we would have preferred you to do this yourself, the end does justify the means. Goodnight, _Schatzi… _I really will miss you…"

His dark gray eyes were glazed over as he stared up at her, and through the fog, he could just barely make out what would be his end. The image above him swam, and over him stood – not the middle-aged woman with her mane of blond curls – but the person he truly feared, the man that had started all of this. That man would be the true cause of his death, the one behind it all.

It was him… It had always been him… And as Miles braced himself for death, he knew it would always be him…

But what came next was not the searing pain of a bullet, the loud blast, or the impending darkness.

What came next was a burst of muffled, jumbled noise.

The person standing over him was gone. People were shouting… men and women… He was trying so hard to register everything, to clear away this bubble that seemed to be surrounding his head, drowning out the noise and blurring the scene. On top of it all, his head was pounding, making him want to just close his eyes and will all the chaos away.

And then there was someone over him again, much closer this time, and he could vaguely hear a man's voice speaking to him.

"_Herr Edgeworth. Künnen Sie mich hören? Sagen etwas, bitte."_

Miles took in a sharp breath, closing and reopening his eyes in an attempt to focus his mind and senses. With a great deal of effort, he sat up, much to the surprise of the police officer crouching over him. _"Herr Edgeworth?"_

"…Franziska… Is she all right…?" This was the first thing he wanted to know. Before this, he didn't care what was going on, how many people were here, if Amelinda and Ewald were being taken into custody. He just wanted to know that his lover was alive and unharmed.

The officer hesitated, then opened his mouth as if to say something, but an angry yell cut him off, overpowering the rest of the noise in the room.

"I said let me through! I am Franziska von Karma, damn it!"

Before he knew it, the woman he'd been so concerned for was right there with him, falling to the floor and wrapping her arms around him. She was still in nothing but her undergarments and was sobbing, but she appeared to have received no further harm. Feeling a sense of relief, Miles slowly wrapped his arms around her waist, both holding her and attempting to shield her from the eyes of everyone else in the room.

"Miles! _Oh mein Gott! _I thought… I thought I would…"

"…It's all right…." He was still so overwhelmed by everything, and it wasn't all sinking in yet. All he knew right now was that she was right here with him, alive and safe. "We're both okay…"

"_Herr Edgeworth. Frau von Karma, _are either of you hurt?"

Miles looked up to see another officer standing a couple of feet away, watching the two of them huddled there on the floor. Somehow, Miles felt the tug of his pride, and though he was still dizzy and stiff, he slowly began to stand up, letting Franziska stay where she was.

"_Frau von Karma _is a bit bruised up… and I… may have a mild concussion…" he replied, trying to look as composed as possible while the room swayed around him. "Other than that… I believe we are all right..."

The officer watched him closely, able to tell that he was unsteady and shaken, even though the man was doing all he could to put up a strong front. "Very well. I'll have one of our squad cars take you two up to the hospital to ensure you are both uninjured. We are taking _Herr Astor _and _Frau Isold _into custody for the scene we walked in on, but can you tell us what happened here?"

Miles bit down lightly on his bottom lip, not even sure where to begin or if he could tell the story. He felt so weary and shaken up. He just wanted to go home and rest, but he was certain they wouldn't be allowed to for a while.

"There is no need…"

Miles turned to look back, seeing that Franziska was now standing up. She had her arms crossed over her chest to try and conceal herself, while still standing a bit behind Miles to further block her nearly-exposed form. "If you could… retrieve my possessions from beside the couch, I will give you all the evidence you need…" She too was trying to act calm, but just like her lover, she was having trouble doing so.

The officer gave her a questioning look, then turned to go find her belongings. He returned shortly, carrying a pile containing her dress, broach, leggings, gloves, and boots, and Miles took them so that Franziska could keep herself somewhat concealed. He turned to her, the question written on his face.

What did she have? What evidence had their captors missed that would tell this story for them?

Franziska pulled her dress from the pile and reached into a fairly unnoticeable pocket in the front of the garment, producing a pen. However, when Miles looked a second time, he noticed something…. odd about it.

"This is all you will need," Franziska stated, reaching past Miles to hand the item over to the officer. "It should have recorded the entire encounter, from the moment I walked into this office."

The male prosecutor's eyes widened a bit. She'd recorded it? Had she come here knowing that something would go horribly wrong? Was everything that had just happened really preserved in that pen-shaped device, saving them from the trouble of trying to prove their case?

He felt a tiny smile appear on his lips, a look of pride directed at his lover. She had really come through for the both of them this time, her sharp mind able to perceive what dangers could have possibly awaited her here. She had come prepared to prove whatever could have happened while she stood in this office, even if it had simply been a spoken admission from Ewald that he knew what Amelinda was doing, believing only Franziska would hear him.

He stood in place as Franziska crouched down once more in order to finally put her clothes back on, regaining the security of being properly covered in front of all these people, many of whom had answered to her when she'd worked here. She stood again, and placed a hand on Miles arm, gripping his sleeve with a gloved hand. She didn't want to be separated from him again, and he felt the exact same way. They had almost been split up for good today; they both felt fortunate to just be standing here together, able to see the other's face, feel the other's presence again.

The next two hours were nothing but a whirlwind of noise and color. Miles remembered being led to a squad car, remembered waiting at the hospital, remembered a man in a white coat telling him to take it easy for a few days, and then he was walking with Franziska into the von Karma manor. He reached back to shut the front door behind them, finally closing out the chaotic world around them. Suddenly, it was quiet, and everything slowed down.

This was when it all began to catch up with him. He slowly made his way to the living room, falling into one of the large, expensive armchairs and exhaling a deep breath. He heard footsteps near him, and the hand upon his arm told him that Franziska had followed.

"…Miles….?" he heard her mutter, her voice filled with worry. It was as if she knew he was crashing even before he did.

The sob that surfaced startled him, and he reached up to instinctively rub his eyes, though no tears had manifested yet. Still, his eyes and throat burned, warning him that the flood gates were straining, that they could not hold back the flow.

Today had almost been the end for him. Twice he had stood on the edge, stared death in the face, and that face was so hauntingly familiar. He'd held a gun, placed the muzzle in his mouth, pointed it at other human beings, fired it. He'd felt the old chains and broken free of them, defied both Manfred von Karma himself and that vile woman trying to finish what he'd started. He'd heard the voice that could tell him to do anything, create unimaginable fear within him, and he'd heard the voices of his parents, voices he'd not heard in so many long years.

And before it all, he'd stood in the cemetery, pleading for release. Had his request been granted, or had he just taken what he wanted for himself?

He could now feel the hot tears sliding down his cheeks, and a light weight registered upon his thighs and against his shoulders. He looked up to see that Franziska had sat down on his lap and was now embracing him, offering comfort and someone to soak with tears. He leaned in to accept her offer, taking in deep breaths as he tried to calm down.

"It's all over, Miles…" she whispered in his ear, using the most soothing tone she could muster. "They will both be in prison for a very long time."

"….They weren't the ones behind all of this…" he whispered back, wrapping his arms around her waist in order to hold her more securely. "How am I to know that… he won't haunt me for the rest of my life?"

There was a long moment of silence, and then he felt Franziska shift slightly in his lap. She moved her hands up to the back of his neck, and the slight jingling of metal pieces followed. Next, the feeling of cool air against his neck, and only then did he realize he'd still been wearing that collar.

Even after three years, it had felt so natural, he'd barely noticed it.

"There," she stated, as if her actions had solved everything. "That's much better."

He looked up, trying to blink away the tears blurring his vision. "Franziska… that doesn't…"

"Miles, if I am not mistaken, my…. Father was right there with you today," she said, moving her hand up to wipe away some of that moisture, having removed her gloves upon arriving home. "But you didn't listen to him or do what he wanted you to do. You turned the pistol around and fired at Ewald, and you turned on Amelinda. You refused to comply with any of their wishes."

He stared at her, trying to understand where she was going with this. Yes… Yes, he had done all of that, but what did it matter?

"You showed them all how strong you are today," the German woman continued. "And most importantly, you showed him that he cannot control you anymore, that you have the will to do as you please, not as he tells you." She dropped the leather dog collar to the floor, unwilling to hold it any longer; it disgusted her. "I don't really know anything about spirits… I still barely believe any of it… but I think that means his ties to you were weakened or… or maybe even broken."

He listened to her with undivided attention, her words starting to form a full picture in his mind. It… really did make so much sense, and now he desperately wanted her to be correct. Had Manfred really been able to do those things from beyond the grave because Miles had never really moved on, never really broken those old bonds? Had those ties been so strong that – coupled together with the vengeful nature of the spirit – it had created a link between the two of them beyond realms? And if that was all true, did what he'd done a couple of hours ago break those ties, cut those strings and free him?

"….My parents spoke to me, too…" After a long span of silent deliberation, Miles decided to confide this in her, peering up into those softened blue-gray eyes. "First my father, and then… my mother… They told me not to do it, that I had… so much to live for… not to listen to him…"

Franziska watched him closely, sort of wondering if he hadn't been imagining that part. Yet, she had seen the ending of that horrible video recording, and she could not deny the possibility that his parents really had been able to reach him in his time of dire need. Besides, even if he had imagined it, would it not make him feel more secure knowing his parents had been there for him, were watching over him?

She smiled. "Well, I am certainly glad you still listen to your parents, Miles Edgeworth," she stated, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. When she did this, he couldn't help but laugh a little, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch.

"Yes… I as well…" he murmured, deciding it was time to just stop dwelling on all of this and rest. Of course, he'd be thinking about it for a long time, probably dreaming about it, too. Still, it was a comfort to know they were in the clean-up and recovery stage of this catastrophe. The true end was in sight.


	16. Chapter 15: Time To Heal

****

**Quicksand**

(Okay, here it is, the final chapter! Thank you all for reading and sticking with me, and I hope you've enjoyed this.  
Oh, and by the way, I noticed that the editor has been screwing up my uploads. (a little too late, huh) When I get a chance, I'll be going back to put my section dividers back in and changeall the flash-backs to boldface. no wonder you guys have been thrown by the transitions! I didn't know it was doing that.  
Anyway, see you all again soon! Hope to read some final comments!)

****

**Chapter 15: Time To Heal**

**Uh… Oh! M-Mr. Edgewrth… What…?"**

****

"…I'm here to see Mr. von Karma…"

The guard looked rather stunned and a bit unsure. It was no surprise that the news of his trial wasn't exactly obscure, but the twenty-four-year-old prosecutor felt no obligation to explain his reasoning. Regardless of how confused this man was, he had no excuse not to let the prosecutor through for a visit; they'd be separated by Plexiglas…

….No harm could be done…

Hah! What a shallow assumption… but here he was, asking for the emotional torment…

"Well, are you going to do your job, or shall I remember that dumb look on your face during your next salary review!"

The guard cringed and jumped up. "O-Of course, Mr. Edgeworth. Right away, Sir!" With that, he went running to alert Manfred of his visitor and then returned to permit Miles to enter the visitation area of the state prison.

As the young prosecutor followed the prison official into the secluded room, he felt his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his temples. He hadn't questioned once why he was doing this to himself, and even at this moment, he still did not wonder. It was like a necessity, a commanding pull that could not be second-guessed.

And there he stood, looking so unfamiliar without all the rich, fancy, expensive clothing. Of course, even in the prison uniform, he managed to maintain that powerful air about him, and the unbreakable barrier between them did little to quell the fear within the youngest man in the room. His insides were twisting, but outwardly, he looked calm and stoic, showing no signs that he was holding in a breakdown.

"You may leave…" Miles said to the guard, though his gaze was currently resting on some point above von Karma's head; he could never look the man in the eyes.

"Mr. Edgeworth, procedure states that~"

"I said leave!" At this point, he turned to the other man, eyes flashing dangerously as he barked this harsh order. He had a lot of respect from those who didn't really know him, and thanks to that, his vicious exterior was more than enough to get him what he wanted.

Within moments, the two of them were alone.

Slowly, Miles turned back to the window, and the first thing he saw was that smirk. It was as if nothing had changed, and though he was the one on the outside, he did not have the upper-hand from the very start of this encounter.

"What are you doing here, Boy?" questioned the German man in his deep, intimidating voice, staring down his apprentice with no lost luster, regardless of the fact that he was being visited in prison.

It was now that Miles finally dropped the façade. His chin dropped, his lip quivered, and he gripped his arm for some false sense of security. "…how could you do this to me….?" His voice was just a tremulous whisper, promising tears. His heart was back in his ribcage now, and it was being squeezed so tightly that the pain was making its way up into his throat and down into his stomach. He felt positively sick, a feeling that had hardly left him over the past few days. He'd barely slept or eaten, and what he had consumed had quickly found its way back up. How he was up and walking around was probably a physiological anomaly.

What he got in response to such a question was a hearty laugh from the older man, and it made him feel like falling to his knees. "Pathetic child!" Manfred exclaimed, getting that same rush out of the control he still had, even after everything that had been happening since Christmas Eve. "Is this really why you came here today, to ask me such a ridiculous question? How could I do this? Hah! Have you really managed to convince yourself that I EVER had ANY regard for you at all?"

Logically, Miles had always known that Manfred had hated him, but some desperate part of his psyche – perhaps in an attempt to preserve what little sanity he had left – had tried to believe there was some human emotion present, some miniscule amount of compassion, or even just the sentimental attachment one would have to a pet or possession. So, as Manfred spoke, it felt like a knife was moving in and out of him. He wished his heart would stop beating, for the stabbing seemed to be its rhythm.

The tears were flowing now, and though his bangs were doing a fair job at hiding them, Manfred knew him well enough to know. The veteran prosecutor laughed again, a dark, satisfied chuckle at how easy these victories had become. "It is almost… disappointing," he mused, smirking as he watched his student – a grown man – stand on the other side of that window and silently weep. "On some level, I almost expected some courage out of you. I thought – perhaps – you would march in here with your head held high and pretend to stand up to me now that I cannot reach you. I thought I might see your anger, but no…"

"No… What I see before me is the broken little toy I discarded, desperate to be wanted again."

Miles choked on a sob and raised his head, a shocked look on his tear-streaked face. He was now shaking, so destroyed that he didn't even need the threat of physical harm to be tortured.

"Even after learning the truth, you wish it had been overlooked, don't you?" Manfred continued, getting quite a bit of enjoyment out of this, as usual. "You want things to be the way they were. You wish I would walk out of that barred door and lead you back home, punish you for leaving the house without my permission the night you were arrested."

Miles cringed and closed his eyes tightly, his fingers digging into his arm so hard that he was sure he'd bruise himself. No! No, it wasn't true! He didn't ever want anyone to touch him again, especially not this fiend! He was free now, and he liked it that way!

Another dark chuckle. "You love the pain. You've always loved it, haven't you? You're nothing but a filthy whore, and that is all you will ever be."

A particularly sharp sob shook the younger man, and he turned slightly, covering his face with one hand while the other grasped at his cravat, crinkling up the previously neat lace fabric. "N-no! No… that's not true…"

"It isn't, you say?" Manfred inquired, placing his hand upon the ledge of the window on his side. "Then tell me, Miles, why are you standing here weeping like a helpless infant? Come now, it's just the two of us, after all. Admit it: you need me. You don't even care about what I've done. You need me."

"No!" It was a surprise that no one could hear him shouting now, but as far as Miles' tortured mind was concerned, they were the only two that existed. "I hate you!" he snarled through his tears, punching the Plexiglas and pushing his fist against it, straining against the anguish and stress. "I've always hated you! You deserve to be where you are now! I hate you for what you did to my father, for everything you've done to me! If it were up to me, I would be the one administering the injection and enjoying every second of it!"

"…Step back."

Miles' outburst had not had any effect on the older man, but those two words, spoken so calmly and quietly compared to his own, had an unbelievable impact on the young prosecutor. Miles seemed to deflate entirely, and after only a moment's hesitation, he took a step away from the window, uncurling that fist to place his hand over his eyes once more, jerking with more sobs, his face and bangs wet with tears.

"Let me see it, Miles." He knew that Miles was fully aware of what he was referring to, and he also knew it was present. He was calling the young man's bluff with complete confidence, and he was absolutely correct.

Barely able to see through the moisture fogging his vision, Miles raised his chin slowly, reaching up with a trembling hand to draw down his cravat, revealing the black leather collar he had never even removed. His mentor's betrayal had hurt so badly, but his emotional sickness had outweighed all natural behavior once again. As angry as he wanted to be, he couldn't even control his own emotions; he was grieving over being set free.

"Now, how many times have I told you never to lie to me?" Manfred's gaze was fixed on Miles, that lust for control and power still present and being fulfilled. "Tell me the truth. You need me, don't you?"

"…yes, Master…"

"You crave the pain, don't you?"

"…yes, Master…"

"Say it: you are nothing but a worthless whore!"

"…I'm… just a worthless whore..."

"You are nothing without me!"

"I… am… nothing without you…"

"You are just a hollow shell, a pathetic slave, a broken toy."

"…just a hollow shell… a s-slave… a b-broken toy…"

That dark, amused and satisfied laugh reached his ears again, an evil grin resting on the lips of the veteran prosecutor. "And tell me, Miles… To whom do you belong?"

"…I belong... to you… Master…"

"Very good. Now, get out of my sight, diseased mutt. I have no further use for you!"

"Master… please… d-don't…"

"I told you to leave, wretch! Do not disobey your master!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Miles. My love… wake up..."

"Mmph..." He shifted slightly as he began to awaken, immediately noticing the stiffness in his joints. Well, that was what he got for falling asleep on the airplane; even the comfortable business class seats didn't make very comfortable beds. He groaned and opened his eyes, reaching up to rub the sleep from them and then looking up to see Franziska gazing back at him, smiling in hopes of making his awakening more pleasant.

"We are about to land," she informed him in a soft voice, knowing he was still groggy. "You can go back to sleep when we get home."

Miles closed his eyes for a moment, stretching a little to try and loosen up his body and attain a proper sitting position. He didn't speak, his mind a bit hazy from having just regained consciousness and reeling from the memory he had just relived. He could feel Franziska watching him, and he could envision the concerned look on her face; he wondered if she'd ever stop worrying about him now that the truth had all come out.

"Miles, what were you dreaming about?"

Inwardly, he flinched, but he had no visible reaction to her question. "…I don't remember," he lied, and whether she believed him or not, she did not ask any more questions. In truth, she doubted his words, but she wouldn't push him. He'd talk to her if he wanted to.

Exiting the plane, picking up their luggage, and heading back home in a cab felt like an automatic process to both of them, for they had both traveled a lot in the last several years. They did not speak to one another the entire time, and Franziska told herself that was just because they were both exhausted from the trip and everything that had happened while in Germany. This seemed the most logical reason, but there was always that nagging fear that her love was not all right.

Though Miles wanted to go straight to bed when they arrived home, he forced himself to unpack first. Franziska was with him the entire time, unloading her own suitcase and putting everything right back to the way it was supposed to be; they were certainly not the type to procrastinate and leave the house in disarray after their trip. However, when this was done, Miles climbed onto their bed, lying down on his back with a heavy sigh.

The German woman stood there watching him for a short while, and then moved to join him, sitting on the mattress beside him and peering down upon him.

It was… eerie. As she watched him lying there with his eyes closed and muscles limp, she couldn't help but recall the horrors she had seen. It was like looking back in time now, seeing the adolescent version of her lover lying tired and battered upon their bed, as if it were the desk in her father's study. It made her sick to her stomach, and she tried to blink the image away, glad that he wasn't looking at her to see this display.

She supposed he wasn't the only one who had been scarred by all of this, though she wouldn't dare compare her own pain to his. How he was still sane was beyond her.

"…I never wanted you to know about any of this…" Miles suddenly muttered, keeping his eyes shut as he spoke to her. "I'm actually surprised… at how well you're taking this…"

Franziska bit her lip, once more grateful he couldn't see her. "I will not lie to you, Miles Edgeworth," she began. "It does bother me, but what am I to do?" She moved her hand, placing it upon his that was gripping the collar of his shirt. "Knowing the history between you and my father does… disturb me, but what sort of person would I be if… my love for you was so conditional that I could forget what we have in light of this knowledge?"

It was then that Miles decided to open his eyes, staring up at her silently. It wasn't as if he had doubted her affection for him; he had just expected things to become… awkward once all the danger had finally passed. That negative voice in his head had been telling him that she'd decide to end this just on principle, feeling that being intimate with a man that had been what he was to her father to be just too inappropriate.

"Miles…" Carefully, she moved over him, straddling his lap and placing one hand on the bed beside him, while the other reached up to brush his bangs out of his face affectionately. "I've always cared for you on some level, and now I am in love with you. Finding out about what was happening back then does not suddenly change who we are… We have some recovering to do, but we will make it through this."

Miles listened to her speaking, and when she was finished, he felt a small smile make its way onto his lips, showing his relief. "It's good to hear you say that, Franziska… I love you, and… just to clarify… this has nothing to do with what happened back then… I'm ill… but not that ill…"

Franziska mirrored his smile, and she gave a small laugh. "I never even suspected anything like that," she assured him. "And even if I had, I don't think it would have mattered. You know how stubborn I am; I do not give up on things so easily. You are stuck with me, Miles Edgeworth!"

This time, he managed a laugh as well, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her hand. "Good… I wouldn't have it any other way…"

Franziska felt a little relief of her own come over her as she looked down to see her lover as he was now. Seeing that smile, there was no way she could mistake him for who he had apparently once been. She inwardly scolded herself, for not even back then had she known him as that weak, helpless young man. She had only seen that man in videos, had never met him in real life. So, how then had she ever made that mistake? How foolish of her! It would certainly never happen again!

With a content sigh, she let her weight rest upon him, and in response, his arms curled around her waist. She rested her head snugly against his chest, more than ready to get some much-needed rest and relaxation after the fiasco they had just endured.

Miles opened his eyes once more, just silently watching his young lover as she slowly began to drift to sleep on him. Any psychologist would have immediately proclaimed that he had taken to her because of her father, that he had seen her as the best replacement for the contact he'd lost. However, he would deny that to his dying breath. He could honestly say that he had never seen that vile man within her, even though she portrayed some of his characteristics and attitude. No, their relationship had nothing to do with his nine-year-long imprisonment. Their relationship was a healthy one, composed of two people in a loving partnership. Perhaps his hesitance to trust anyone had made her the number one candidate to get close to, considering he'd known her since he was ten years old, but that was the only connection he could make, and he saw nothing wrong with it.

So now it was time to pull himself together again, to truly recover and put it all to rest. He was sure these memories would haunt him for quite some time. He was sure he had not shed the final batch of tears over this. He knew that recording was still going to earn him plenty of odd stares and uneasiness from co-workers and anyone else who had seen it. He knew he still had baggage to deal with.

Still, Amelinda was headed to prison, along with her most recent accomplice, Ewald Astor. All the recordings had been found and disposed of properly. Manfred had been dead for two years, and Miles had broken the hold that spirit had had over him. He couldn't say for sure it was all over yet, but he decided to remain optimistic, determined to finally get back to his own life and live it normally… the way he wanted to…

"O-oh! Mr. Edgeworth, you're… uh… back…"

The gray-haired prosecutor frowned at the scruffy detective staring awkwardly at him, his gaze calm and cold as he folded his arms across his chest and held his chin up. "Is something the matter, Detective? Did someone suggest my absence would be permanent?"

Gumshoe gave a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head and averting his gaze. "Well, no, Sir, but um…"

Miles' gaze turned into a glare, and it had lost no power during his absence. "Stop acting like such an imbecile, Detective. I recommend – for your sake – that you stop looking at me like that and get to work! I have not returned with the intention of being gawked at!"

Gumshoe flinched, a little surprised at how the prosecutor's behavior had not seemed to change at all after what everyone had seen. It was… sort of commendable, really! "Y-yes, Sir! Of course, Sir! What do you need, Sir!"

"Hm…" Miles' harsh gaze became a satisfied half-smirk. "The autopsy report. I trust you have it?"

"Yes, Sir!" Gumshoe produced the manila envelope, handing it over with a bit of pride. Miles noted that – at least with this man – his strategy was working. There was no way to erase what had happened, but if he exerted his power, acted confident, and reinforced the demand for respect he had earned before this had all started, he felt he could fix his reputation.

He told himself he wasn't going to address it, but not everyone was as shy about it as Gumshoe.

"I need this faxed over to the precinct and the D.A.'s office immediately."

The woman with short black hair he spoke to gave him a strange look, and then gave a scoffing laugh and muttered something to herself as she took the file out of his hands. Miles felt a surge of anger, but he did his best to keep it at a controlled level.

"I'm… quite sorry, Mrs. Keith, but I'm afraid I didn't catch your remark?" he said, his voice casual and polite on the surface, but his true intention of the comment was not a mystery to anyone.

"I didn't expect to see your face around here again," came the cross voice of the middle-aged woman, though she now had her back turned to him as she worked the fax machine.

"Is that so?" Miles inquired, quirking an eyebrow. "And why might that be, if you don't mind me asking?" Oh, he knew the answer, but he was sort of daring her to say it.

She snorted with laughter, her response spoken in a rather haughty tone. "Are you serious? We all saw it, Edgeworth. I'm sure the state doesn't want to put a prosecutor behind the bench that no criminal will ever be afraid of again."

Miles gripped the sleeves of his jacket as he stood there with his arms crossed, feeling the tension build up. Did this woman not realize that she still worked for him? Did she have so little respect left that she thought she could speak to him this way and get away with it? "I… beg your pardon, but I don't believe this conversation is either civil or appropriate for the workplace." He wouldn't lose his tact here, but he wouldn't back down either.

The secretary turned to face him again, walking to her desk and slamming the file folder down upon it. "Not appropriate?" she repeated icily. "You know, we always had our suspicions about you: the way you dress, how you never even seem to look at a woman, the way your office is decorated. Could you be any more flamboyant? And now this!" She sneered at him, not even pretending to be civil. "You're such an attention whore, I bet you put that video out there yourself. You'd better hope none of the people you prosecute are gay as well; they'd probably remember jacking off to it."

There were so many ways he could have reacted to this, and most of them involved shouting, lashing out. For a brief moment, he thought he'd lose it with this bitch, but he was saved by another female voice from behind him.

"Edgeworth."

He turned quickly to see Chief Prosecutor Lana Skye coming down the hallway, and from the distance she was at, he was fairly certain she had not heard their exchange. "…Chief Skye," he responded, returning the usual greeting of the other's name.

"I thought I felt a chill," the brunette prosecutor commented. "I see you and Ms. Von Karma have returned after all. I trust your personal business has been dealt with."

Miles paused, and then nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't have returned otherwise."

Lana nodded curtly. "As I expected, and I see you've gotten straight to work already."

Now, a bit of a smirk appeared on Miles' lips, and he turned to the black-haired secretary before speaking. "Oh, I was simply about to thank Mrs. Keith for faxing those documents for me. Now, Mrs. Keith, if you would be so kind as to have this office space cleared out by the end of the day, that would be most appreciated. We really do need it for someone who knows how to behave like a mature adult in the workplace, and who is aware that one should really show respect to one's superiors if one intends to keep their job."

The look on the woman's face was priceless, and with a triumphant little laugh and his head held high, Miles turned and walked away, past Chief Skye and back toward his own office. He would not be treated in such a way, nor would he let her biting words get to him. If he really had to re-earn the respect he'd once had around here, then so be it.

When he reached his office, he closed the door behind himself and gave a sigh, hoping that was enough throwing his weight around for one day. He'd just stay in here until it was time to return home, and then be recharged for more of it tomorrow.

"Only a few hours left, Love."

He jumped a little at the sound of her voice, and then quickly calmed down as he looked up to see Franziska sitting on the couch in his office, hands folded in her lap and legs crossed neatly. She gave him that little smile of hers, and that was all it took to allow him to return it. He moved toward her, taking a seat on the couch beside her and leaning back against the cushions.

"It's like starting over again…" he muttered, closing his eyes to rest for a moment. "It's as if I've just arrived here in Los Angeles for the first time and I have to prove to everyone I'm not a child."

He felt her shift a little beside him, and then felt her hand against his chest and her lips on his cheek. "You have a lot more evidence to prove that now, though," she pointed out. "You have the record to prove you are a great prosecutor, and you are in charge of most of the office. All you really have to do is remind everyone of that."

"Mm…" he muttered, acknowledging her comment before he spoke. "But last time… I had the advantage of association." He wanted to bang his head against a wall as soon as he'd said it, but luckily, Franziska did him the favor of turning this into a light-hearted situation, not making any mention of the reference.

"Hmph! You seem to be forgetting about me, Miles Edgeworth," she stated, leaning back a little to look at him. "I'll have you know that my whip has tasted flesh several times already, and I can never get enough of the shocked looks on their faces when it occurs to them that we are a team!"

Miles opened his eyes to look up at her. He stared for a moment, and then laughed, leaning up to kiss her on the cheek and pull her into an embrace. "I should've known," he said with a wry grin. "Well, with the all-powerful and terrifying Franziska von Karma on my side, there's no way I can fail."

"You're a smart man to realize that, Miles Edgeworth," she replied, and underneath the haughty tone was an affectionate purr as she reached up to stroke his cheek with her gloved fingers. As she peered up at him, her eyes shone with happiness, and it sent all the stress and tension fleeing from his body and mind.

No, they weren't out of the swamp just yet, but he could see the edge ahead of them. The worst of it was over. His panicked struggle had nearly cost him his life, but with a little help and support, her guidance and calming touch, he had been able to climb out before the Quicksand could finally drag him under.

oooooooooooooooooooo

****

**"Leave your mark under my skin  
Oh my, how strong you are  
And feast your eyes on my disdain  
And hope this one won't scar**

****

I will never belong to you again  
I will never belong to you

Push if you still need my pain  
'Cause I will never tell  
And scream if you still hate my name  
'Cause I'll be where I fell

Come sit close to me  
Let me feel your breath  
Come sit close to me  
Hands around my neck  
Come sit close to me

I will never belong to you again

If I decide that I am alive  
Then I'm diseased and ungrateful  
And if I confide that I am a liar  
Then I'm diseased and ungrateful

Push it in  
'Til it breaks  
If it bleeds  
Then I'll be okay

If I decide that I am alive  
Then I'm diseased and ungrateful  
And if I confide that I am a liar  
Then I'm diseased and ungrateful

Come sit close to me"

_**-Seether "Diseased"**_


End file.
